WORDS! WORDS! WORDS!
(By an Unpaired M.P., who has "Sat it Out.")
M.P.'s gagged? Why, tongues have wagged
Seventy days, or eighty.
Little said on any head
Has been wise or weighty.
Gag's all hum! How shall we sum
Seven long weeks' oration?—
Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!
Bartley, Bowles—loquacious souls!—
Hanbury and Russell,
Have kept going, seldom "slowing"
In the talky tussle.
Saunderson went sparring on,
Joe pursued jobation.—
Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!
Righteous causes, wicked clauses,
All meant bleats and blethers.
Beaming Bolton had to moult on,
Gone his old Rad feathers.
"Yaller Jaunders" seized on Saunders.
All drew "explanation!"—
Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!
Grim MacGregor—dogged beggar!—
Had "ideas"—and told them;
So had bores in tens and scores,
Why should they withhold them?
What result from all this cult
Of roundaboutation?—
Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!
With composure I the Closure
Welcome—our sole saviour
From the gabble of the rabble,
And their bad behaviour.
The Front Benches? Well, one blenches
E'en from their "oration"—
Polyphrasticontinomemegalondulation!
