Under heaving shoulder pads, you had your rivals neutered –
Men sobbing when you crushed their little balls.
Ruling from 10 Downing Street,
You shaped your country’s future,
Now you miss the crowds cheering in the halls.
So, when Tony Blair resigned,
You, who Reagan thought was divine, made a plan:
The Iron Lady’s comeback tour,
The queen of horror, Mrs Thatcher,
You want to batter Jacques Delors
With your handbag, Mrs Thatcher,
Once again.
An early start on Monday – a whisky gets you going,
Then you phone up the White House and they squirm,
You toast some workers’ unions,
Then visit your hairdresser
To tame your iron-wool hair with a perm.
Wails when you left Number 10 –
“Our Messiah, may your Kingdom
Come again!”
The Iron Lady’s back in town,
The queen of horror, Mrs Thatcher,
You want to batter Gordon Brown
With your handbag, Mrs Thatcher,
Once again.
“Woe! To the Communists!”
“Woe! To the Communists!”
“Woe! To the Communists!”
“Woe! To the Communists!”
Lamé dress, a low hemline,
And barb-wire knickers, Mrs Thatcher,
You want to take on Argentines
And swing your handbag, Mrs Thatcher,
Once again.
|
