After thinking all wartime of Labour and Tory,
This, to us, is the long and the short of the Story:
All are Fools, most are Knaves; and they keep up this bother,
To screw us while both sides betray one another.

Poor Tony (whose Maxims of State are a riddle)
Has us, like himself, stuck as Pig in the middle:
No matter which Benches he calls upon first,
Its ten thousand to one, that we'll come off the worst.

'Tween George Bush and his Brother (those sons of ill-favour)
He'd scent dirty oil-men if he'd sniff out their savour.
Had he half common Sense, as he should for the Law,
He'd have had 'em long since of Hague's court held in awe.

The first is a Crook, ill-fashioned, ill-featured,
A Bigot to balk at, both false and ill-natured:
The second as Governor's surely unfit,
Both fiddle elections, their wealth's our Debit.

With Tony thus mired, 'mongst these dangerous Brothers,
We'll impeach him first, then we'll arraign the others.
We'll make this the long and the short of these stories,
The Knaves are New Labour, but all Fools are Tories.

                    (Apologies to Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset)