Another Charles, is on the throne,
and parliament’s still sick,
surely, I am not alone,
who wants to brandish; stick,
as duties are rescinded, turned into nothing; more,
than to have a good day, for a civil war,
since Gordon’s poor recession,
people have been blanked,
Westminster’s snobby session
means; we have to form our ranks,
abused is the right; that casts our vote upon the floor,
cold shoulder’s, a good day, for a civil war,
reshuffle the same villains,
hinders all such changes,
“looking” at street killings,
from our tax paid granges,
too long this division is; them rigging every law,
that sanctions, a good day, for a civil war,
Starmer out, Burnham in,
burn in; all the same,
think like dear old Fairfax; him
who wouldn’t take the blame,
but the only death warrant’s: a public that’s ignored,
chopping up a good day, for a civil war,
two victims, to a treason,
the monarch, and the people,
no ointment; for soul lesion
such money keeps such steeple,
keeping Charles: the merry, as we; do live, abhor,
praying for a good day, for a civil war,
if Cromwell, can ban Christmas,
the house we can dissolve,
as brittle is our isthmus
when MPs; pass no resolve,
thus; our self-sufficiency; finds sense in Marston Moor,
to find again, a good day, for a civil war!