by David Villiers-Child There'll be carloads of Louises, From Parisian stripteases, Importing foul diseases, Into Kent. There'll be modern French Wells Fargos, Sending juggernauts with cargoes, Of frogs legs and escargots' And mans scent. There'll be Dutchmen too, by jingo, Who refuse to speak the lingo, Coming over for the bongo, And the dogs. And through this umbilical, Seeking knickers from St. Michael, Girls from Rotterdam will cycle, In their clogs. There'll be Danes on every corner, Faces pink in the sauna, Trying hard to flog us Porno-Graphic books. There'll be men like Julius Ceasar, Getting in without a visa, Careless architects from Pisa, Bloody crooks! There'll be wealthy German Campers, With enormous picnic hampers, Full of sauerkraut and champers, And Pork Pies. There'll be Eyeties slick and smarmy, Reared on pizza and salami, Turning up at Veeraswamy, Without ties. There'll be Swedes of charmless candour, Coming over to philander, Spreading left wing propaganda, About wealth. Belgian girls of vast proportions, Who have failed to take precautions, Driving over for abortions, On the Health, There'll be Spanish senoritas, Jamming all our parking meters, With their miserable pesetas, (I don't know!) And senoras doing the Samba, Shouting "vamos" and "caramba", And believing that the amber Light means go. There'll be Austrians with poodles, Wanting membership of Boodles, Then demanding Apple Strudels, With their tea. there'll be lecherous Kuwaities, Driving lorry loads of Katies, From the Thames to the Euphraties, C. O. D. There'll be men from Lithuania, From Rumania and Albania, From Tasmania, Pennsylvania, I've no doubt. So dear immigration panel, Boys in sports jackets and flannel, Please protect our English Channel! Throw them out!
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