The Queen
Spat out a melch of
Claret flavoured
Chewing gum, stuck
It on the underside of
Her throne, belched and
Fished out a fag lighter
From the sovereign
Chaos of her handbag.
‘You there’, she said
To the trainee butler
Underneath her feet,
‘Fetch the Racing Post’...
She fancied a
Flutter.
She fancied a
Flutter.
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