I want the best deal possible
My government is working for the best deal possible
We shall not be contented till we get the best deal possible
We maintain negotiations for the best deal possible
The hand I have been dealt I hide behind my back
And lay it card by card using dark mirrors
No-one not even ‘they’ are certain who ends winners
In my going away, and yet not turning ‘them’ my back
Revisions and reversions, signal, follow on
Into a swamp where by your leave we wallow
We want the guest deal; I guess the rest we’ll swallow
We want the best – or else want a vest to borrow.
What should a deal superlative be looking like?
A bolthole to dishonest rights for moonlighters
As if it were a silly story and it had not happened?
Who was it smashed the looms that had preserved the pattern?
A best deal carries any deal we divvies ever get
An adverse deal likewise supplies a safe and best revet
The deal we get indeed will be the deal we get
Not a jot better
And nothing might be postured postulated any surer
So following the logic to the bitter final perjure
This deal behind my back I blithely play out using mirrors
I put no foot wrong nor shall leave the beaten swanny rivers
Of vacuous assertion which I farm out to the field
The same blunt instrument and self-inflicted wield
Has cooked my nation for a plate of stinking cabbage
By an adolescent judgement call –what great things might this presage!
I say the deal we get will be the very best
And having no deal other, my assertion to attest
The deal we get comes seeming neither more nor less
No better deal than were the deal a mercenary mess
Now that we have the art of passing-over saying nothing
In what we say, we shout across the board
Our call a drawl unanimous, filled-up with fluffy stuffing
What might our upper limit be to win a world!
Throw off our chains, end Brussels’ clowning capers
The straight banana? – up the EU’s a***
Our sovereign rights restored; our legislators?
Yeah! Go! Our legislators! They’re a proper blast!
We now being free to steal away the world,
Waft aery nothings, puff out wind, articulate by throat
Stand taken upon our word once more, once more big guns
And players in the marketplace of salient note
Haggling, we sing for supper; rags, routines, twopenny flutes
Measures and entertainments, slightly stooping cap–in-hand
Ranging our empty services, and parleying vapid plans
The wonder of this counterfactual age:
A pack of sorry couch potatoes seated on our hams