Robert Carr
has penned a tale, telling us he is the Holy Grail
He’s our Foreign
Minister, flying here and there, flying bloody everywhere
Complains of
things so mundane, just what is going on inside that brain?
Singapore
Airlines sent back a letter, sorry that First Class was not better
No jammies for
our man to wear, I cannot perceive the depth of his despair
He had to slumber
in his Armani suit, he must have felt almost destitute
Upgrades to First
were so depressing; those stupid rules just window dressing
I should be up
front right from the start, and when we arrive, first to depart
The Foreign
Minister is who I be, you people should be fawning me
I’m the most
important man you’ll ever meet; Kissinger got me into his retreat
And the G20
meeting I did chair so clever, I am the best chairman ever
On the world
stage Bob’s his own hero, but to most of us he’s down near zero
A six-pack belly is
what he desired, to be like Putin and Obama he aspired
His book’s a
self-absorbed expośe, of things of yourself you should not say
But ever
watchful, he saw the end, and bailed from the party he could not defend
A total wanker,
would you not say, a thorough prima donna on full display
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