limericks of isolation

I'm hopin i don't make a hash-of-it
I'm often found writing a limerick
the clean ones come easy
but i know you want sleazy
sorry if they gets on yer tits-a-bit

          now we've got Boris elected
          we hear the poor buggers infected
          he's got it quite rough
          and his gal's up the duff
          no wonder he looks so dejected

                      at last i got my prescription
                      i curse that chemists dereliction
                      there's no little blue pills
                      that give her the thrills
                      wotever will i do for erection

          for twelve weeks they said - stay at home
          be creative whilst home - all alone
          to try and outlast it
          you might weave a basket
          but i'm reading a book - on the throne

do I have to take more of this
is the government taking the piss
forsaking all gatherings
they've got me a slavvering
it's that pint down the pub that I miss

                                        when mable had that jab for the flu
                                        the air round her head turned quite blue
                                        she screamed and she shrieked
                                        all rosey red cheeked
                                        cos we'd seen her derriere tattoo

              the lottery's the last of my chances
              now corvids buggered all my finances
              when your income is nil
              one must bite the pill
              i'll have to sell one of my ranches