Everybody's Grandmother, The Queen Mother

I remember that fateful day;
'Twas around tea-time the Queen Mum distinctly went dead,
".tremendously moved.." the journalists, politicians and other rented talking head commentators weeping gravitas TV tears said,
and pronounced with biblical soma-revelation precision the amazing universal truth:
The Queen Mother in a very real way was everybody's grandmother,
Everbody's grandmother!
Fucking hell, sorry to swear, but that was news to me:
I was shocked, I never bloody well knew that!
To think that the Queen Mother was everybody's grandmother -
nobody bothered telling me.
Did she also help England win the World Cup in whenever it was
(or did she then play for Germany?)
Was she also the first man on the moon
or at least the first grand mother on the moon
or maybe the first Queen Mother on the moon?
Everybody's Grandmother went to the moon
Crickey, I wondered, are there any other secrets to discover
about the Queen Mother who was apparently
in a very real way everybody's grandmother?

Well, I phoned a friend
'Cos I had one then,
(That's before all this mess that I'm now in).
Shaking, I questioned, probed:
"Did you know that the Queen Mother was everybody's grandmother,
James Whittaker said so on the news,
Was she like a holy cosmic telepathic grandmother like in Dune Messiah:
The Ben Gesserit or whatever they were called,
Or was it more of a secret granny hive like scary clone drone reproduction
scenario like in Alien 2?
And if the Queen Mum was our real gran, then, then,
Who the hell were all those other old women all over the world who acted as all our grans?

Were they impostors?
Were they lobsters?"

"You shouldn't have asked mate.."
The phone line cut dead,
Then the lights in my flat blinked out,
Silhouetted masked old women were running outside past my window,
God. I prayed.
I was surrounded, no out way,
Then the front door got blasted,
It shattered and blew in,
Torches, tournequets, catheter bags and knitting needles danced before my eyes,
They smelled of boiled cabbage cheese, crack house nanny rice pudding
and too many right wing meetings.
I was injected,
I think I was probably molested,
I woke up in a spaceship,
Strapped in a Stairmaster,
And suspended upside down,
Ten thousand granny voices cackled below me a terrifying sheep on helium zero tolerance surround-sound:
"So you cracked open our code:
We are a grand mother
We are a Queen Mother,
Resistance is futile.
We are the holy suicide martyr grannies,
We'll be rewarded in the granny afterlife
Full of bingo and sweet sherry,
We're gonna take over the earth
And bring back hanging for everything.
Cliff Richard will be anointed as our King of Kings,
Cliff Richard will be our Jesus
'Cos Jesus couldn't sing,
And never sang songs about Jesus the way that Cliff did.

She Killed Bin Laden, she isn't dead,
She's waiting in a cave,
And when we accept the signal
We're on our way,
Don't try to save your species:
We are a grand mother,
We are the Queen Mother,
Resistance is futile."

So that's why I'm stuck here,
The grannies are on their way
I hope you can hear me,
Is anybody there?