Those Randy Old Royals

Liz is the queen
Held in the highest esteem
By the many and the few
And all the boys in blue!

Their world may be mean
But Liz is ever keen
To never make a scene 
Or her conscience to over-ween!

She has a Browne hue
That often will ensue
To make her subjects 
Shout out: P-U!

The Archbishop of Canterbury
May be in a big hurry
And like the rest does he scurry
To her place warm and furry!

In her place down under
His thrusts produce thunder
That cause Liz to wonder
If the royal person might split asunder!  

Prince Charlie
On his Harley
Likes to get all snarely!

He had himself a fling
So he can't be a king!
For that we should sing
And let church bells ring-
Ding-a-dong-ding
His ass is in a sling!

But Dianna our huntress
Has wounded their hearts!
To see all the royal parts
Handed over to the old farts,
Useless dilettantes, and mindless tarts!

The Lord Mayor of London Towne
Is another big clown.
Boris can bore us
He can scream and shout
Proving thus to the stout
That he's a jolly-good lout! 

And so he goes
Without any clothes
Walking on his toes
Amidst the blows
From some jolly-good hoes!

Poor Di had to die
Without Liz sounding a sigh.
We ask this crowd why
In the sweet bye and bye?

Now Willy and Kate
Were happy to mate
Without ever a date
To dance or skate!

The result is Charlotte 
The new royal harlot!
Oh, what a brew
This motley crew!
Could it be true
That out of the blue
Me they may sue
To spare these few?

I care not a whit
They are so full of it,
And prove by such
That they are all too much!

Old London Towne
And its mayorial clown
Just love this mirth 
About the  republic's birth!

But Lizzy's in a tizzy
That makes her dizzy
Her duke just puked
So she had him nuked!

The republic may be
The answer for me
For me and we
And even for thee!
So let us see
From across the sea
The answer to our plea!

For the sake of what's edible
I'll make this charge credible-
Merry olde England is headable
By other than this
Warm pitcher of piss
That's easy to diss
And finally dismiss!

As the royals roil
The people doth boil
At their endless toil
And the high cost of oil!

BP and Shell
Of, what the hell
Can anyone tell
Liz and the Dutch hag
That it's time to sell
Each and every well
That makes the royal fortune swell
Despite the bad smell
And a world going to pieces
Pall Mall.