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Fellow Compatriots, please tell me this:

having made revolution to dismiss

the royals and their weird rules from our shores,

why do we fete those tweedy media whores;

why do we care for whom (now clothed) Prince Harry

asks dowdy Grandmamma if he can marry?

Does she think he has just one that he shags?

(He is, may I remind you, Prince Charles' son;

Prince Charles, whose life reads:  "Not a damn thing done.")

Great Britian, if you were not cowled, you could

tell each one of them, "You have done no good."

(We have a man to help you:  lately hired,

his foremost talent is to shout, "YOU'RE FIRED!")

Oh well, I think Great Britain likes its farces,

and that is why they pay these horses' arses---

the crowns and clowns that play the Merry Windsores,

who are just, in reality, windbags.