Dubious Peacenik
A walking shrub shall grace our shores
We'll close the streets and bar the doors
And, lest he start to brag of wars
We'll stuff our ears with wax
His garbled nonsense sha'n't invade
Our inner minds, to give him aid
When next embarking on a raid
We'll turn our scornful backs
Oh Burning Bush, and Burning Son
Each scarier than the other one
Behold the offspring of a gun
We'll run away and hide
We spurn his massive entourage
We'll greet him with a rude barraage
From throats as fierce and crowds as large
As any he's espied
So 'Airstrip One' extends its scorn
We'll make him wish he'd not been born
In his raw hide we'll be the thorn
That spurs him to retreat
Good riddance to his private jet
We'll be his friend no more, and yet
There's so much we can not forget
- This diatribe's complete
Contributors: | Roland, TG, unsullied. |
Poem finished: | 25th November 2003 by Anon.. |