In Zimbabwe’s forests at night
Foul, yellow cowards creep,
With a madman for a ruler
Democracy sells cheap.
The yellow cowards slaughter
Good men, women, and babes;
North America’s Terrorist Organisation
Sits restful on its brains.
A slimy piece of walking filth
Sits in the leader’s seat,
While in the dead of Zimbabwe’s night
Gutless, yellow cowards creep.
White farmers and black farm hands
Just want to earn their keep,
But with the UN’s tacit blessing
Foul, yellow cowards creep.
They creep in the dead of night
Too yellow to show their faces,
The UN twiddles its collective thumbs
While cowards commit disgraces.
Black supremists on the UN
Fought South Africa’s Apartheid,
But are blind to Zimbabwe’s fate
Since only whites have died.
A Desert Storm was fought and won
To protect the US oil enclave,
But no one’s fighting yellow cowards
Murdering the good, the pure, the brave.
An election was rigged to help
A madman stay in power,
Yellow cowards creep along at night
In democracy’s darkest hour.
© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts, Melbourne, Australia
© Copyright 2016 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.