Are You the Last Paradigm?
In France, there is a little town
Where all the sheep dress in a gown;
And all the women graze the grass
And look at pigeons, o alas!
The pigeons wink at all the boys
And their wizened ugly toys;
The streets are paved with garlic cloves
Which citizens despise in droves
The citizens eat lots of snails
With all the slurping that entails
Then they fall upon the pavement
For their evening's entertainment
The cheese and wine soon start to flow
From Burgundy and eke Bordeaux
Such wine they quaff as is not measured
Such nights are to be treasured.
And what the name of this dear town?
For that information I'd pay half a crown
Just to be there with a beer in my hand
Beside those Frenchies I can't stand
I'm not a boor or even phobic
But gibbering Frogs make me feel so sick
Though I'll eat of their cheese with pleasure and joy
Their vile, stinky bodies do tend to annoy
Yet, back in the town, bunting abounds
The air is filled with joyous sounds
Children skitter idly to and fro
Beneath the wheels of passing deux chevaux
The mutton is roasting, the hog is awake
The children still living are baking a cake
They think it will feed both the quick and the dead
And banish alll xenophobes back to their bed
For this is the country that nature forgot
A small zone of mud as big as a dot
A place that's never too cold or too hot
Unless you're a prune or a rare ocelot!
Contributors: | Fatty, Apsley, Fatty's, dkb, Beefy, Curt!, Hamish, Roland, P. |
Poem finished: | 19th June 2001. |