A poem about Belgium
and see waterloo and mannekin piss too
brave little belgium
plucky little country
cradle of europe
flanders fields and all that sacrifice
blood-stained through the years
what a load of careless twits the belgians are
fancy siting their odd little country
slap bang in the middle between
naughty aggressive germany [at that time]
bullying belligerent britain [unchanged]
and greedy garlicky froggy france [immortal]
oh what a tactless thing to do
everyone will want your pommes frites
and tasty chocolate truffles
and will come for them with a load of troops
and you'll have to rebuild ypres
at least a couple of times per century
now we all know [brushes back a patriotic tear]
there will always be a corner of fucking england
approximately forty miles by sea and land
from the dirty white cliffs of dover
buried in a forgotten belgian field
lying rotting in the flemish mulch
proletarian cannon fodder commemorated
by tuneless trumpets at the menin gate
and by countless tearful repetitions
of maudlin words by laurence binyon
or bunion or buttface or whatever his name was
oh yes and now it's the home of bureaucracy
the centre of modern united europe
with bloated slimy bureaucrats feasting
on steaks as thick as a stallion's cock
[and since the belgians love horse meat
mine could easily have been one and
i genuinely fear that piece of gristle was actually
a carefully cooked equine forsekin]
just watch those suits guzzling away
enjoying the fruits of excessive eu taxes
but still belgium's as flat as a fucking pancake
[except for the metaphorical fat salaries
but that's repetition so i apologise for that]
and with fewer hills than hens have teeth
so busting with mussels from brussels
and extra pounds put on by eating through
mighty piles of cholestrol-impregnated paté
and chocolate pudding with speculos
off i go in my aircon tourist charabanc
to historic waterloo which i should add
is mostly a seriously boring suburb nowadays
and there's really not much to see there
and maybe waterloo is best remembered
as a south london railway station
[mainly because the french don't like
being reminded of yet another battle they lost
preferring to recall the occasional gloire et victoire
et vive fraternité egalité et liberté
and fuck you disneyland paris]
and on the coach i met this fat american bird
from milwaukee [usa] and she yapped like
a yorkshire terrier with verbal rabies
oh gee this and oh gee that wow look at that won't you
and when we got to our anonymous hotel
near the brave old battlefield
i found we had adjacent bedrooms
and after another belly-busting blow-out
she invited me in for a nice sample
of the liquid goodies from her minibar
and no doubt a good inspection
of the interior of her flaccid plump thighs
a prospect i did not in the slightest relish
so i said not to-fucking night josephine
and she had to make do with the coach driver
whose breath was like a german shepherd
after a 454gr tin of chappie with marrowbone jelly
and i heard them bonking away all night
so much for fucking cultural tourism
Author's Notes:
Poetry by Edna Sweetlove
Read 1365 times
Written on 2007-08-17 at 03:01
Tags Belgium Erotica Satire
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In Flanders Fields
i thought i'd go to belgiumand see waterloo and mannekin piss too
brave little belgium
plucky little country
cradle of europe
flanders fields and all that sacrifice
blood-stained through the years
what a load of careless twits the belgians are
fancy siting their odd little country
slap bang in the middle between
naughty aggressive germany [at that time]
bullying belligerent britain [unchanged]
and greedy garlicky froggy france [immortal]
oh what a tactless thing to do
everyone will want your pommes frites
and tasty chocolate truffles
and will come for them with a load of troops
and you'll have to rebuild ypres
at least a couple of times per century
now we all know [brushes back a patriotic tear]
there will always be a corner of fucking england
approximately forty miles by sea and land
from the dirty white cliffs of dover
buried in a forgotten belgian field
lying rotting in the flemish mulch
proletarian cannon fodder commemorated
by tuneless trumpets at the menin gate
and by countless tearful repetitions
of maudlin words by laurence binyon
or bunion or buttface or whatever his name was
oh yes and now it's the home of bureaucracy
the centre of modern united europe
with bloated slimy bureaucrats feasting
on steaks as thick as a stallion's cock
[and since the belgians love horse meat
mine could easily have been one and
i genuinely fear that piece of gristle was actually
a carefully cooked equine forsekin]
just watch those suits guzzling away
enjoying the fruits of excessive eu taxes
but still belgium's as flat as a fucking pancake
[except for the metaphorical fat salaries
but that's repetition so i apologise for that]
and with fewer hills than hens have teeth
so busting with mussels from brussels
and extra pounds put on by eating through
mighty piles of cholestrol-impregnated paté
and chocolate pudding with speculos
off i go in my aircon tourist charabanc
to historic waterloo which i should add
is mostly a seriously boring suburb nowadays
and there's really not much to see there
and maybe waterloo is best remembered
as a south london railway station
[mainly because the french don't like
being reminded of yet another battle they lost
preferring to recall the occasional gloire et victoire
et vive fraternité egalité et liberté
and fuck you disneyland paris]
and on the coach i met this fat american bird
from milwaukee [usa] and she yapped like
a yorkshire terrier with verbal rabies
oh gee this and oh gee that wow look at that won't you
and when we got to our anonymous hotel
near the brave old battlefield
i found we had adjacent bedrooms
and after another belly-busting blow-out
she invited me in for a nice sample
of the liquid goodies from her minibar
and no doubt a good inspection
of the interior of her flaccid plump thighs
a prospect i did not in the slightest relish
so i said not to-fucking night josephine
and she had to make do with the coach driver
whose breath was like a german shepherd
after a 454gr tin of chappie with marrowbone jelly
and i heard them bonking away all night
so much for fucking cultural tourism
Author's Notes:
Poetry by Edna Sweetlove
Read 1365 times
Written on 2007-08-17 at 03:01
Tags Belgium Erotica Satire
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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