You cozied up to hoodies once,
Stroked huskies on your lap.
Those were your front-page salad days
Before you called green ‘crap’.
You’d had enough, you told us once,
Of Tory Euro doubt,
Then risked it all on a dreadful call
And had them throw us out.
You were Mr Chillax once,
Unlike fierce Mrs Grantham,
Then demanded Jeremy wear a tie
And sing the national anthem.
You had us close to weeping once
At the suffering of your son,
And rapturised the NHS –
But look what Hunt has done.
And yes, you were the future once,
Though it went by in a blur.
Now you’re the past and, looking back,
We don’t know what you were.