Des for Dictator
[Verse 1 – bold and rowdy]
Now listen here, you voter rats, and raise your jugs up high,
For Desmond came from south and smoke with thunder in his eye.
No tie, no pin, no suit nor guard — just boots and cunning grace,
He strolled into the Beehive, then he flipped the whole damn place.
He banned all banks from Friday chats, gave free fish on the piers,
And made the Speaker mop the floor in front of volunteers.
[Chorus – longer, stomping, proud]
Oh Des for Dictator, aye that’s the cry!
From Cape Reinga to the Otago sky!
No left, no right, just boots and grit,
With a flax cloak crown and a stovetop wit!
He don't do polls, he don't do spin,
He’ll trade your lobby for a recycling bin!
So march, ye wild, from bluff to cape,
Des for Dictator — there’s no escape!
[Verse 2 – faster tempo, wild-eyed tone]
He turned the PM's car into a goat cart made of pine,
Then rewrote every law book with a crayon and red wine.
He knighted sheep, unbanned the hoon, taxed landlords by the hour,
And filled the Waitangi Treaty grounds with vegetable-powered towers.
The Greens, they wept, the Nats all fled, and ACT just kinda quit,
And Winston tried to talk him down — but Des just took his spit.
[Chorus – full-blooded pub-roar]
Des for Dictator, aye raise the call!
He’ll paint the Sky Tower to look like a brawl!
He'll surf Cook Strait on a shopping cart,
While reading tax law and tearing it apart!
From Welly’s wind to Southland’s frost,
He’ll fix the books, no matter the cost!
No red tape binds his rule of flame,
Des for Dictator — remember the name!
[Verse 3 – dramatic and mythic]
He don’t need jets or navy drills — he’s got three angry ducks,
And when he wants to hold a vote, he simply shouts, “Who sucks?!”
Then roars of “NOT DES!” shake the hills, the ballots catch on fire,
And schoolkids draw his battle face in crayons made of wire.
He made MMP stand for “Mighty Mad Power,”
And changed the anthem to just one growled line: “Stand down — my hour!”
[Final Chorus – march beat, unstoppable]
So thump your boots on Aotearoa ground,
Des for Dictator — let the howl resound!
He’ll build a dome from Number 8 wire,
And outlaw lies (unless they inspire).
He rules with laughter, law, and lore,
He’ll give you land, and maybe more!
With ghost-wolf eyes and thunder breath,
Des for Dictator — 'til glorious death!
DES! DES! DES! DES!
Now listen here, you voter rats, and raise your jugs up high,
For Desmond came from south and smoke with thunder in his eye.
No tie, no pin, no suit nor guard — just boots and cunning grace,
He strolled into the Beehive, then he flipped the whole damn place.
He banned all banks from Friday chats, gave free fish on the piers,
And made the Speaker mop the floor in front of volunteers.
[Chorus – longer, stomping, proud]
Oh Des for Dictator, aye that’s the cry!
From Cape Reinga to the Otago sky!
No left, no right, just boots and grit,
With a flax cloak crown and a stovetop wit!
He don't do polls, he don't do spin,
He’ll trade your lobby for a recycling bin!
So march, ye wild, from bluff to cape,
Des for Dictator — there’s no escape!
[Verse 2 – faster tempo, wild-eyed tone]
He turned the PM's car into a goat cart made of pine,
Then rewrote every law book with a crayon and red wine.
He knighted sheep, unbanned the hoon, taxed landlords by the hour,
And filled the Waitangi Treaty grounds with vegetable-powered towers.
The Greens, they wept, the Nats all fled, and ACT just kinda quit,
And Winston tried to talk him down — but Des just took his spit.
[Chorus – full-blooded pub-roar]
Des for Dictator, aye raise the call!
He’ll paint the Sky Tower to look like a brawl!
He'll surf Cook Strait on a shopping cart,
While reading tax law and tearing it apart!
From Welly’s wind to Southland’s frost,
He’ll fix the books, no matter the cost!
No red tape binds his rule of flame,
Des for Dictator — remember the name!
[Verse 3 – dramatic and mythic]
He don’t need jets or navy drills — he’s got three angry ducks,
And when he wants to hold a vote, he simply shouts, “Who sucks?!”
Then roars of “NOT DES!” shake the hills, the ballots catch on fire,
And schoolkids draw his battle face in crayons made of wire.
He made MMP stand for “Mighty Mad Power,”
And changed the anthem to just one growled line: “Stand down — my hour!”
[Final Chorus – march beat, unstoppable]
So thump your boots on Aotearoa ground,
Des for Dictator — let the howl resound!
He’ll build a dome from Number 8 wire,
And outlaw lies (unless they inspire).
He rules with laughter, law, and lore,
He’ll give you land, and maybe more!
With ghost-wolf eyes and thunder breath,
Des for Dictator — 'til glorious death!
DES! DES! DES! DES!
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