And George said to John
let's blow up all those oilwells,
and ride kangaroos.
But Tony piped in
that he loved doubledeckers.
Would they run on gas.
Then Chirac woke up.
Beaujolais from the Loire
it would be parfait.
When Schroeder heard it
he went down to the cellar
and drank all the beer.
So, Condoleeza
was discussing with Laura
about men like George.
Then the Pope called up
'Jesus travelled without it
God will fix it all'.
God was mad as hell
as the Pope was mistaken.
And God could not care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem