Jubilee. From my friends wife
Pour me a large whisky, Philip, I’m frozen to the bone,
It’s raining cats and corgis, and I just want to go home
The thermals William bought me aren’t keeping out the chill
Camilla’s got her cami-knickers on but she’s frozen stiff as well
Here we are on the royal barge, our Kate is looking sweet
And Philip looks so handsome in the uniform of the fleet
Our two red thrones are soaking wet, can’t sit on them I fear,
And my beautiful white hat’s so damp, it’s sagging round my ears
A shame the Royal yacht is gone, I would have liked to think
Of Kate and Wills stood up the front like Leonardo on Titanic
Oh look, there’s Boris Johnson, a lady’s man I hear
Keep him away from Pippa, so he won’t see her shapely rear
Put her in a burka, to hide her pert posterior
Don’t want her to steal the show, or have Harry in hysteria
The Middletons are over there, they come from “trade” alright
Philip shouts “Doors to manual” when the mother hoves in sight
Their firm supplied the bunting, the party hats and flags
The table cloths and banners, and tacky party bags
They must have made a fortune, selling all that Jubilee tat
Watch out for Windsor Castle, they’ll soon be buying that
Now Buck House has the concert, with Kylie, Tom Jones and Cliff
And what’s that thumping overhead, its Suggs and Madness on the roof
I know my loyal subjects have made this the best Jubilee ever seen
But please pass the remote, Philip, so I can fast forward to “God Save the Queen”
