Poface
There was an old Law Lord supported
Concoctions of facts so distorted,
His whitewash
Was eyewash,
All laughed at what he reported.
A judge who could not be objective
Smothered the BBC with invective,
All mocked his decision
With mounting derision,
And thought him a little defective.
There was an old person called Hutton,
As bright as a very dull button,
When asked to compose
“whitewash” in prose
He redoubled the “over-egg” ration.
Lord Hutton amassed all the evidence
Yet blamed only broadcaster’s eloquence.
The general retort
To his published report
Was hogwash, baloney, and effluence.
Of all crusty old Hutton’s commissions,
The simplest; to produce Iraqi munitions.
But try as he would
To make Tony look good,
He merely proliferated suspicions.
Noel Hamel