Routemaster of Fuck-all

Thomas Heatherwick and
Thomas Crapper
Have a row.
In the despicable
Arena of Mexican
Horse boxing,
And how!
This is a two horse
Scrap,
An’ one
An’ only
One Tom’s
Today’s nap.

Grant you this;
If one’s time
Was another’s
On that albatross bus
He’d piss.
Nought close to a
Anything master.
A Boris Johnson
Back-hander receiver,
One who has never
Sat on one,
Versus
A porcelain
Graced, egalitarian believer;
Who’ll
Lay to waste
This public money waster.

The garden bridge
Is burning down,
So flush that dream away.
Toe to toe,
The crapper difference
Is on display,
The Bobby Moore
At 1861 – 1,
Are that,
The odds are stacked,
A pristine record,
Left intact,
The crowd soar,
Let go a roar,
As Heatherwick’s
Backers,
Out they
Backed,
For those
Who forever be
Worshiped,
Be trained
And nurtured,
Be Crappers
And that’s
Ladies and Gentlemen,
‘S a fact.