My Cherie maman, listen to the donkeys bray
My Cherie maman, bearing me the middle way
My Cherie maman, will I ever know which side I'm on?
Was I ordered up by Mandelson?
Does he hope that I'm divine?
In the Commons, or sometimes on the campaign bus
I'll be mentioned, and I'll cause a little fuss
My Cherie maman, will I be new Labour's paragon?
Or its new automaton?
Will I have a private shrine?
Maybe some day I won't need any chaperone
Maybe some day I'll spin a story of my own
Oh Cherie maman, must I be a Stella Rimington?
Nothing that I should pronounce upon?
How I wish I knew my line!