Even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day, and this topical poem is topical again. It concerns Lib Dem peer Lord Rennard who went around groping party members (how very liberal of him) and who has been told by Clegg that he has to “say sorry” before he can have the party whip back again. Clegg’s trying to make himself look all tough, but surely “sorry” doesn’t and shouldn’t cut it in a situation like this.
Lord Grope
Lock up your activists, gag the press
here comes his Royal Fondleness
he’s out to squeeze his pound of flesh
Who’s that then? No, let me guess …
Yes! Lord Grope!
Twenty stone and on a mission
man boobs jiggle, forehead glistens
girls say no, he don’t listen
“I want to form a coalition.”
Sexual frisson Lord Grope!
The lazy peer with busy hands
the ladies just don’t understand
the flames of scandal neatly fanned
by a one track mind and swollen gland
Randy Lord Grope!
Watch him sweat and wheeze and beg
his breath of blend of beer and egg
his sausage fingers on your leg
“It’s alright love, I know Nick Clegg”
it’s the dregs, Lord Grope
And even as their lot unravel
his lib dem pals won’t bang the gavel
“harmless really, only dabbled
not as if he’s jimmy saville”
No, he’s Lord Grope!
He’s Benny Hill in a gold rosette
a master of the heavy pet
just another Clegg regret
is this poem finished yet?
Only if you say sorry!
Lord Grope!