On Downing Street, I stood six yards behind
My wife, and faced the press and the BBC
As she addressed the nation and resigned;
I am the husband of Liz Truss, you see.

I’d watched her scratch her way up through the ranks
Scarcely able to believe my eyes
Cheered on behind the scenes by hacks and cranks
She’d set her sights on the ultimate glittering prize

She’d slithered up the tall and greasy pole
Of politics; I watched with consternation
I knew she wasn’t fit to play the role
Of leader of a messed-up, bankrupt nation

But somehow she took over from old Boris
My boring job in accountancy I quit
Though I’d watched her fail in every previous office
I prayed this time she wouldn’t be so shit

I looked forward to Christmas in Westminster
Partying hard with Presidents and Kings
Alas! The shadowy powers-that-be convinced her
To abdicate and quickly pack her things

At Number Ten Removal vans appeared
And Mrs Truss was carrying the can
She’d been even worse than I had feared
And now our marriage, like the economy, is down the pan.