Shall I compare Liz to a summer’s day?
She ain’t as lovely nor as temperate.
Rough winds did shake the darling Theresa May
And Bozza’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines
And often is our gold collected in
And every month our pay perforce declines
Through energy costs, tax and inflation.
But this infernal summer gives no shade,
As we work out how much we owest.
Nor shall Kier brag that he hath made the grade,
When all the time interest rates growest.
So long as there's no election to see,
So long lives Liz and exit poor Rishi.