Losing my Glor-ious virginity

I'd worked up enough points recently to be able to have an evening off, so I headed down to the Glor Sessions for the first time. I'd grown a bit weary of the live streaming because it kept breaking up (Stephen apparently has a new webcam, so hopefully that problem will be fixed)
Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed it. The quality of the poets (Niamh Bagnell making her final Dublin appearance before leaving for sunnier climes) and the songsters was top notch and where else would you get an evening of top-notch entertainment for free. The singing guy with the beard was very good and the red-headed poet (Fintan O'Higgins?) inspired feelings of great envy.
I had written a song that I was hoping to sing when Stephen threw the evening open to the chair. However, he had a lot of acts booked (and some still hadn't arrived yet) so at 11.15 with the booked acts still going strong, I had to leave for the last bus. Looks like if you want to participate, you need some other form of transport!
Anyway, the song will be out of date by tomorrow, so I might as well post it up. It's not my subtlest:-

Song for Brian

You were charming and dutiful,
unbearably beautiful,
when you first assumed power from Bertie.
With your Offaly brogue,
you were no Dublin rogue,
though your language at times could be dirty.
But your star took a tumble
and then started to crumble
as the economy started to waver.
At the end of our tether,
we rise up together
and ask you, dear Brian, will you do us a favour?

Oh Brian, would you ever feck off?
I’m afraid that your snout is too long in the trough.
You once were my pin-up
and helped keep my chin up
but now, like the rest, I just scoff.
Oh Brian, would you ever feck off?

To give you your kudos,
you comprehensively screwed us
like no other Taoiseach before you,
while your party’s back benches
and political wenches
line up to declare they adore you.
But now confidence drains
and your lustred star wanes
and you face a show-down with Micéal.
But even if you beat him,
Disarm him, unseat him,
the writing’s in font forty-eight on the wall.

Oh Brian, would you ever get lost?
For years, we poor sods will be counting the cost.
Your retirement pension
doesn’t need an extension
for your nest is already well-mossed.
Oh Brian, would you ever get lost?

It’s not that I am a fan
of Mary Hanafin,
Noel Dempsey makes me break out in spots.
Brian Lenihan blunders,
Batt O’Keeffe thunders,
Mary Coughlan just gives me the hots.
No there’s no-one to touch you
and it’s clear that, as such, you
exult in untouchable splendour
But despite your great beauty
and devotion to duty,
the worrying fact is – we’d rather have Enda.

Oh Brian, would you ever feck off?
A doctor should grab your two balls and cry ‘Cough!”
Mary Harney’s a cutie,
with Pam Anderson beauty,
but sadly you’re no Hasselhof.
Oh Brian, would you ever feck off?

(Yes, I know some of the rhymes and scans aren't exact, but as I was going to sing it, I thought I'd get away with it)