The morning sun touched lightly on
The brains of Nadine Dorries
In an empty dusty cavern
Of an empty unused mind
As she snarled like a numptie
Dreaming of the big dog’s favours
‘Till the world turned to red
And the room went spinning round
At the age of thirty-seven
She realised she’d never
Ride through Whitehall in a sports car
With the warm wind in her hair
So she let her brain cells shrivel
And continued to drivel
Little nursery rhymes she’d memorised
From Tory head office
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