Mary, Mary

 Mary, Mary

Mary, Mary how contrary

Do your paper’s lines appear

To contradict your husband dear

It’s poor eyesight I hear. 

Mary, Mary how extraordinary

To be both ill and well

To travel England up and down

With neither sight nor smell. 

Mary, Mary it’s a miracle 

More miraculous than the birth

Of a cockeyed story

So sad it’s bringing mirth. 

Mary, Mary it’s exciting

To be writing and reviewing 

To be history making

Not just Spectating. 

Mary, Mary, if you’ve got a shovel

I’d lay it down right now 

Or else you’ll dig a grave 

For Boris Johnson too.