I don’t think he is thinking straight
His syrup’s made him hottish
And that can happen in the sun
To men whose genes are Scottish
He can’t abide these immigrants
Syrian or others
Some of them are children
And they’re coming with their Mothers
He says that he would send them back
If he gets into power
Which ill behoves a candidate
Who lives atop a tower
I wonder if he’d do the same
With Mexicans or Greek’uns
Or men whose ancestors were slaves
Or, perhaps, Mohicans?
Beware the pure bred xenophobe
His rage is quite frenetic
He might not like it if you probe
His heritage – genetic
His family have been here
Since the melting of the ice
Avoiding nasty foreigners
To keep their bloodline nice.
He hates the bloody Romans
And the Angles and the Jutes
And the Saxons and the Vikings
With their tendency to loot.
He hates the dreaded Normans
Though they bravely took their chance
In truth he isn’t very fond
Of anything from France.
He doesn’t mind the Indians
He wishes they’d come sooner
As he’s partial to their Tarka Dhal
And Vegetable Bhuna
For centuries the xenophobe
Was desperately in need
Of stimulated taste buds
Instead of boiled swede.
He detests the poor old Hugenots
Abhors the bloomin’ Jews
And Somali’s are all pirates
He has seen it on the news
He doesn’t like those aeroplanes
Or ocean going boats
Enabling all these foreigners
To circumvent his moat.
“It’s come to such a sorry state,”
He’s telling all his mates
“I’m thinking about selling up
And moving to the States.”
The irony is lost on him
So let’s not point it out
For reasoning is futile;
Xenophobia’s about.
Beware the pure bred xenophobe
His Mother was a virgin
What madness to have random tribes
Genetically mergin’?