My name is Michael Howard and I lead the Tory mob,
I face the future backwards, which I do not think is odd.
To see where I am going my genetics were recast,
and now my facial features have migrated to my arse.

My eyes and mouth, and other parts, have just a single place
with which to see the future come, one hole for all my face.
I see through what's already there, I'm really full of it,
so foreign's crap, and what I speak is singularly Brit.

That messenger's an immigrant and therefore he is bad,
the message he is bringing must be very very sad---
and thus we denigrate the good ideas he's brought,
so competitors acquire the efficiencies we sought.

The responsibility for this competition lost
has to be the foreigners'---it never could be us---
and since we keep on losing, it must mean they conspire,
so all that's left for us to do is say each one's a liar.

This poem has been updated to reflect the great changes in the Tory Party since their hopeless and nasty nationalistic campaign of the 2001 election.