My profit margin’s wracked with doubt
My tax demands encumber
I think I know a good way out –
Now, where is Johnson’s number?
I manufacture hoovers, mate,
but with a bit of luck
I’m sure I’ll make them ventilate
and blow instead of suck
I’ll slip the goods through Pirate Bay
and ship them up the Humber
While Customs look the other way –
Now, pass me Johnson’s number
There’s cash for questions, text for tax
exemptions for the rich
There’s mates’ rates, deals behind your back
which go without a hitch
The tax rules vanish mighty quick
where usually they lumber
A text exchange and then they’re fixed
’cause I’ve got Johnson’s number
He tried to decorate his flat
with Tory donors’ gifts
Until his chief advised him that
it might cause party rifts
Our morals are on gardening leave
Our toothless watchdogs slumber
As others give shall I receive
as I’ve got Johnson’s number
I reckon that I need not fear
I don’t expect a summons
My conscience and my eyesight’s clear –
well, more than Dominic Cummings’
I treat the British public like
the cast of Dumb and Dumber
So tell the taxman: take a hike
’cause I’ve got Johnson’s number
