We live in a country called Daftland
The England we knew is no more
Where sensible people do ludicrous things
Or risk breaking some Daftland law.
In Daftland we've police dogs with muzzles
Lest the villain has cause to complain
And to steal from a shop and say 'sorry'
Means you're free with no stain to your name.
You had better leave lights on in buildings
When you lock up and go home at night
'cause the burglars might hurt themselves entering
And there's no way you'll be in the right.
When speaking be wary in Daftland
As some terms that you've used all your life
Now have connotations unintended
And you'll end up in all sorts of strife.
We elect politicians in Daftland
To give us the laws of the land
Yet eight laws in ten now come from abroad
The whole thing has got out of hand.
The borders are open in Daftland
And of migrants there's no keeping track
Just a few of the thousands illegally here
Will ever be caught and sent back.
The exception to this is the hero
Who fought for this land in the war
He's old and he's sick, he might cost us a bit
So he's not welcome here anymore.
When the history is written of Daftland
Historians may just recall
That the craziest people in Daftland
are the public who put up with it all. EricT
Now at the age where I know I like girls but can't remember why!
Edit: I've read that through a couple of times now but seem to slip into the style of Stanley Holloway or Marriott Edgar while reading it. Anyone else think that style suits the above prose to a tee?
EricT
