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Tradition Continues
Crawford Howard
 
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HER MAJESTY'S PLEASURE
by
Jimmy Rafferty

One is sure you recognise One – you’ll have seen One on TV
Opening things, and closing things, and waving quite nicely
One’s been Queen for simply ages – One’s Diamond Jubilee is due
But to tell the truth, One’s bored to death with all the ballyhoo

Flying here, and driving there, at each ones beck and call
Greeted by boring arseholes in every port of call
Businessmen and councilors, and rogues who are on the make!
One would need to count one’s fingers after each handshake!
Opening schools and hospitals, planting trees and being ‘nice’
The tabloids think that One is broke, if One wears the same hat twice!

Those Palace Garden Parties – thousands in for tea and grub
Stealing cuttings off the plants, and peeing behind a shrub
Big Fat Boring Bishops, dressed up like a silly twit
Binmen getting MBEs, for a lifetime shovelling . . . rubbish
The Royal Variety performance – One does not like to bitch
But most are only on TV to make Simon Cowell rich

One’s children are no comfort – they cause One endless strife
The eldest talks to vegetables - which may explain his wife!
The second son got married to that loud, red-headed girl
And the youngest is an actor – as far as One can tell.

All those awful trips abroad – the strange things one sees and hears
Yet another jolly tribal dance – huge painted chaps with spears
Young girls with all their wobbly bits bouncing in a ring
One has to watch One’s husband – he likes that kind of thing!
Those walkabouts in Africa, in the burning midday sun
The sweat is clinging to One’s back, and running down One’s bum!
Those endless foreign banquets – strange foods to make One choke
If One sees another baked sheep’s eye, One feels like One will boke!
And those awful foreign Diplomats – some have simply got no class
That bounder Berlusconi actually tried to grope One’s ass!

The opening day of Parliament – do we really need it?
You think that speech is boring – One has to blooming READ it!
Black Rod walks right in front of One, in tight trousers of black satin
An Anus Horriblis – and One is NOT speaking Latin!
Of course it used to be much worse – One hates to make a scene,
But that dreadful Thatcher person- she thought that SHE was Queen!
And Blair, forever grinning - Wilson, Heath, and Douglas Hogg
One even knew Old Churchill – the real one – not that dog!

Of course One has One’s horses – One enjoys a good hard ride
A thoroughbred between one’s legs is constant source of pride
One rides a sensible old mare, who would not do something silly
But One’s Husband likes a canter on a friskier young filly!
One’s little dogs are fun, of course – they try to bite the staff
Too short to reach the footman’s bum, but it does give One a laugh!
The Corgis come from Wales, of course – it might be because of that
That they do things on the carpet, and try to shag the cat!

One asked one’s husband how he copes – Tall chap? Phil the Greek!
He shouted ‘Dammit Woman, is your brain completely weak?
You should get yourself half plastered before you start the day,
And keep some in your handbag, to make sure you stay that way!
The Old Queen Mum, she knew the way to keep that happy grin
No wonder she kept smiling – she was full of bloody gin!
Could you not smell the blasted stuff - the pong was hard to miss?
She was over ninety years of age – One thought the smell was piss!

So One thought One might try his advice – follow it to the letter
And being Queen is FUN again – One’s life is SO much better,
One just has a couple of stiff ones, before One starts the day
And re-fuels from One’s Handbag, at the stops along the way.
One nips off to the toilet, and swallows a quick gin
It has all been freshly painted, so no one can smell a thing!

Of course, One tries to match the drink to what One does that day
Create some interest in the job, I suppose, as One might say
If One should be in France, perhaps, a Beaujolais Neuveau
Or if One is going to Scotland – a wee Bell’s, ‘Afore Ye Go’
And if One is going to Lurgan – One should be so unlucky
One’s maid can have a paper bag, containing a bottle of Bucky!

So being Queen is fun again – One greets each day anew,
One sees life through a pleasant haze, thanks to the Devil’s Brew
Those chaps seem much less boring, and their chat seems erudite
One no longer gives a toss if they talking total . . . balderdash
But One must be very careful, anytime One has to speak
One’s husband drops a clanger almost every other week!
They say that he’s a racist, but he is really not one bit
He hates everybody equally, and he does not give a . . damn.

Still, now and then, One gets the urge to loosen up the hold
Do something slightly risque, just to break the mould!
There’s an EU banquet on tonight – everyone dressed up so swank
With that big wide German woman, who looks like a Tiger tank
The tiny Frenchman with his wife - another new designer dress!
And that big fat ugly Irish chap , who always looks a mess
One might need a little extra booze, to survive that kind of scrum
So if Old Berlusconi’s there, One might just grab HIS bum!

 
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