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A farmerÕs dog came down to town,
His Christian name was Pete,
His pedigree was ten yards long,
His looks were hard to beat.
And as he trotted down the street,
'twas beautiful to see;
His work on every lamppost,
His mark on every tree.
He watered every gateway,
He never missed a post;
For piddling was his masterpiece,
And piddling was his boast.
The city dogs stood looking on,
With deep and jealous rage;
To see this simple country dog,
The piddler of his age.
They sniffed him over one by one,
They sniffed him two by two,
The noble Pete in high disdain
Stood still till they were through.
They sniffed him over one by one,
Their praise for him was high;
But when one sniffed him underneath,
Pete piddled in his eye.
Then just to show these city dogs,
He didn't give a damn;
Pete strolled into a grocer's shop,
And piddled on the ham.
He piddled on the onions,
He piddled on the floor;
And when the grocer kicked him out,
He piddled on the door.
Behind him all the city dogs,
Debated what they'd do;
They'd hold a piddling carnival,
To show this stranger through.
They showed him all the piddling posts,
They knew about the town;
And started out with many winks,
To best this stranger down.
But Pete was with them every trick,
With vigour and with vim;
A thousand piddles, more or less,
Were all the same to him.
And on and on went noble Pete,
With hind leg kicking high;
While others lifted legs in bluff,
And piddled mighty dry.
He watered every piddling post,
He watered every sandhill;
Till all the city champions,
Were piddled to a standstill.
Then Pete an exhibition gave,
In all the ways to piddle;
With double drips, and fancy flips,
And now and then a dribble.
And all the time this country dog
Did neither wink nor grin,
But blithely piddled out of town,
Just as he'd piddled in.
The city dogs said: "So long Pete,
Your piddling did defeat us,Ó
But no one's ever put them wise,
For Pete had diabetes.
The politician came to town
His bags packed and prepared
To spend the weekdays living in
His London pied a terre.
The House of Commons stood nearby,
It was his place of work,
Where he would spout bad rhetoric
And be a Right Hon. jerk.
Yet this was not his only joy,
'twas not the only aim,
Neat fiddling was his greatest skill,
With dud expenses claims.
The voters, they were blind to it,
They trusted him, poor fools,
Not knowing money was his God,
And fiddling was his tool.
They'd voted for him every time,
He'd ran as their MP,
Yet those good folk did honest toil,
While he just fiddled fees.
And then, to show complete disdain,
And demonstrate his greed,
He moved his lover in and claimed
She was 'essential needs'.
He fiddled with his mortgage
The fiddles they were many,
He did it when he bought a bulb
And when he 'spent a penny'.
He fiddled on the Lottery,
He did it when he peed,
For fiddling was his policy,
And fiddling was his greed.
And then the whisper travelled round
Amid the tabloid Press,
That other things did not add up,
In truth, they were a mess.
A snowflake of suspicion dropped
Upon those dirty deeds,
Then turned into a snowball when
The Press revealed his greed.
Bewildered people everywhere
Demanded of MPs,
Why did they claim for pretty ponds
And porno DVD's?
It turned out there were many rotten
Apples in the stash,
With tubby snouts in rotten troughs,
All gobbling up the cash.
Both Labour and Conservative
Were fiddling with delight,
And misappropriating funds,
With all their potent might.
Glib politicians everywhere
Who'd all been on the make,
Cried, "Diddling? Nay! We only made
The tiny odd mistake!"
The media dogged the petty crooks
And people yelled with ire,
That now the kidding had to end,
Boot out the diddling liars!
The public said, 'Goodbye! Let's bid
To nail the thieving gits!'
The people did not get their wish...
The guilty got away with it.