The Maybot's a Mystery Pol: she's called the Hidden Leader -
For she's the master bluffer, so only fools will heed her.
She's the bafflement of Channel Four, the BBC's despair:
When they want to ask a question - the Maybot is not there!
The Maybot, The Maybot, there's no one like the Maybot,
She's broken every human law, she breaks the law of polity.
Her powers of disappearance would make Houdini stare,
When there's debate about her fate - The Maybot is not there!
You may seek her in the studio, or the interviewee's chair -
But I tell you once and once again, The Maybot is not there!
The Maybot's a Tory bot, her smile is fake and thin;
You would know her if you saw her, for her lips are reddened in.
Her brow is deeply lined with fear, her hair is poshly mown;
Her heart is dusty from neglect, her principles unknown.
She thinks she's strong for being wrong, and promises a stable;
Like a horse who kissed the Blarney Stone, her sound is hollow Babel.
The Maybot, The Maybot, there's no one like The Maybot,
She's computer code in human shape, an app that's never hot.
You won't meet her in a by-street, nor see her in the square -
And when a question's posited, the Maybot is not there!
She's outwardly respectable. (Tho her sidekicks look like lard.)
Her dodgy campaign spending fills the files of Scotland Yard.
But when the u-turn spins around, or a note to Trump needs signing,
Or the Brexit plan is missing, and the cloud's no silver lining,
Or the hospitals are broken, and the teachers in despair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! The Maybot is not there!
And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless to investigate - The Maybot is not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
'It can't have been The Maybot!' - 'cos she surely wasn't there.
You'll be sure to find her resting, or a-licking of her thumbs,
But never doing something difficult like long division sums.
The Maybot, The Maybot, there's no one like the Maybot,
For election time engagement she gives not a single jot.
She always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed took place - THE MAYBOT WASN'T THERE!
And they say that all the Tories whose wicked deeds are widely spat on,
(I might mention bungling Hammond, I might mention foolish Fallon)
Are but clones made from the Maybot, who like one accused of crimes
Just hides from every question: the chicken of our times.
