Don't barrage Nigel with all that forage about costage and cash lostage due to Old Blighty held hostage to American bosstage when it flees Brussels' muscles, Mastricht being drastic and trump a sp_st_c and his wife and kids plastic but this is our last ditch you bitch to lynch immigrants and softies and intellectual lofties and all other lucky victims when we pick 'em and lick em' and when they run out along with all the food and dosh we'll say where's Nigel again? And then. And then. Are we not proud bold Englishmen? Angered and armed with fury and fudge judge and jury we'll lure him out to get all boorey and whoorey down Drury then we'll try him and tie him and truss him and bus him to Mother Thames coz thems our rights in nights of fair despair and disorder brought on by the dismal new order of famine and looting and hunting horns tooting in Tooting and we'll break him and take him in our black carriage old farrage for a right royal dunking for flunking the ian smith duncan cricket wicket test of doing his best for old England ringing and dinging and singing wouldn't you rather be on some Tor ridge sniffing the borage than held here hostage with us lot but at least it's not porridge nah it's a much swifter snifter this leering steerage rough-trade under-age-of-consent-lament haulage with big thick naval rope for our urban pope of fascist disaster. Up with the pup we cry faster and faster the ropes all a tangle until his turtle neck's mangled and there he hangs dangle and dangle his shiny shoes tap-dancing the sinister mister defenestered Westminster blues and this dunce's once jaunty scarf blows what a larf loose in the wind with the fallen leaves oh who would choose or believe that once princely Nigel should end up in such a fankle with his trousers at his ankles? Try, try to take in this wide-eyed angle on wide-boy Nigel, who took us all in, covering our eyes wise and laughing as sin. He who greatly fucked Great Britain over and look at him now as white as the white cliffs of Dover. He's fucked as the ducks and the lapwings and the little-ringed plover. He's over.