Boris, Boris, I live next door with his big floppy hair and ever-flapping jaw.
Boris, Boris, he lives next door, his bike’s outside but his money’s off shore.
Boris, Boris, he lives next door, I asked for some sugar but he said I’m too poor.
Boris, Boris, don’t come knocking on my door, mate
I was heading to a festival and getting into my car.
When I saw all you guys must be waiting on a star.
There were cameras in your hand hey mum, I must have made it large
The paparazzi’s here but those flashes didn’t start.
Then I heard a mumble grumble and I turned I nearly stumbled,
I thought it was a womble but it was that Tory dumb-dumb.
Blonde hair, eye bags, pot-belly, typecast
Boris Johnson’s moved in right next door to my gaffe
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