Lunchbox, part II

from Communiqu​é​s by ABEARICA

/

lyrics

It really ain't the place nor the time
To reel off rhyming diction –
But yet we’ll write a final rhyme
While waiting crucifixion.
But we bequeath a parting tip
For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
To polish off the Dutchmen.

In prison cell I sadly sit,
A dammed crestfallen chappie,
And own to you I feel a bit –
A little bit–unhappy.

This is what comes of Empire building.
This is what comes of Empire building.
This is what comes of Empire building.
This is what comes of Empire building.

If you encounter any Boers
You really must not loot 'em
And if you wish to leave these shores,
For pity's sake, Don't Shoot 'Em!
Let's toss a bumper down our throat,
Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: “The trim-set petticoat
We leave behind in Devon.”

No matter what end they decide –
Quick-lime? Or boiling oil? Sir
We'll do our best when crucified
To finish off in style, sir!
And a man's foes shall be
They of his own household.
And a man’s foes shall be
They of his own household.

credits

from Communiqu​é​s, released March 31, 2010
words from Butchered to Make a Dutchman’s Holiday by Harry Morant

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