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'Don't Let's Be Beastly To The Germans' - Noel Coward
We must be kind, and with an open mind
We must endeavour to find a way
To let the Germans know that when the war is over
They are not the ones who'll have to pay.
We must be sweet, and tactful and discreet
And when they've suffered defeat
We mustn't let them feel upset
Or ever get the feeling that we're cross with them or hate them,
Our future policy must be to reinstate them.
Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
When our victory is ultimately won,
It was just those nasty Nazis who persuaded them to fight
And their Beethoven and Bach are really far worse than their bite
Let's be meek to them, and turn the other cheek to them
And try to bring out their latent sense of fun.
Let's give them full air parity
And treat the rats with charity,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.
We must be just, and win their love and trust
And in addition we must be wise
And ask the conquered lands to join our hands to aid them.
That would be a wonderful surprise.
For many years they've been in floods of tears
Because the poor little dears
Have been so wronged and only longed
To cheat the world, deplete the world
And beat the world to blazes.
This is the moment when we ought to sing their praises.
Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
When we've definitely got them on the run
Let us treat them very kindly as we would a valued friend
We might send them out some bishops as a form of lease and lend,
Let's be sweet to them, and day by day repeat to them
That 'sterilization' simply isn't done.
Let's help the dirty swine again
To occupy the Rhine again,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.
Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
When the age of peace and plenty has begun.
We must send them steel and oil and coal and everything they need
For their peaceable intentions can be always guaranteed.
Let's employ with them a sort of 'strength through joy' with them,
They're better than us at honest manly fun.
Let's let them feel they're swell again,
And bomb us all to hell again,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.
Don't let's be beastly to the Germans
For you can't deprive a gangster of his gun
Though they've been a little naughty,
To the Czechs and Poles and Dutch,
But I don't suppose those countries really minded very much.
Let's be free with them and share the BBC with them,
We mustn't prevent them basking in the sun.
Let's soften their defeat again,
And build their bloody fleet again,
But don't let's be beastly to the Hun.
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We Love The Welsh!
It seemed often a volatile battle,
A tense feud, England and Wales between.
We must unite! Culture differences settle,
Salute our mutual Queen.
It's the land of the harp, the lovespoon,
The yellow daffodil, the dragon red,
Newtown, to Flint, to St. Davids,
St. Donats, up to Holyhead.
With no need of reason, they burst into tune,
Seems at the drop of the hat, a choir form,
A welcome they'd keep in the hillsides,
(At least, our holiday homes they keep warm).
The mines dignified the urban community,
Between Pontardawe and Pontypridd,
They buzzed, but now they're the pits,
And Port Talbot steel, that's under Neath.
The men are men...sheep undoubtedly edgy,
Bleat whether the wether, the ewe or the ram.
Found in most pubs, between eleven and twelve,
Untold mutton, but dressed-up as lamb.
There's the Catatonia star Cerys Matthews,
The taffette attitude, to the letter!
But Ian Watkins (Lostprophets), best not mention.
(That bastard, the least said the better).
There's seaweed abundant (thus laver bread),
Straight outta Newport, Goldie Lookin Chain,
The Tiger Bay temptress dubbed "Dame Burly Chassis",
But little Ms. Church, three-sheets *yet* again.
There's the rugby legend Gareth Edwards,
Ryan Giggs (Man-U)...he netted League fame,
So talented at shots between the sheets,
That his own brother-in-law he became.
Drove Caerphilly north, Eisteddfod dinner,
(Rarebit...cheese on toast...lush nosh!)
Saw signs between twenty/twenty-five-odd feet, that said,
"Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch".
Over-burdened downstairs, and with a hairy chest,
I went to the doctor, endowment tests sought:
- "This 'Tom Jones Syndrome', is that common, then?"
- "It's not unusual!", his gentle retort.
That Bonnie Tyler? Still bemused, in France,
But where, then, did she go wrong?
It's a heartache, even a total eclipse,
Maybe for that hero she held out too long?
The beautiful Catherine Zeta Jones,
Kylie Minogue's mum, and Owain Glyndwr,
At the baize, the talented Matthew Stevens,
The Manics (band), Ty Nant, Mumbles (Gower).
The humble statesman Nye Bevan,
Benevolent to the hilt,
Unforgotten by every lefty household,
- The new N.H.S. fundamentally he built.
The late presbyterian William Evans,
(Now he's "Evans Above", so to speak),
The Johnny Owen statue in Merthyr Tydfil,
The national vegetable (that's the leek).
Dylan Thomas, the esteemed poet,
Then the funnyman Rhys-Jones (Griff),
Time for a toast, a budget bottle of bubbly:
"Tidy darts, mun! Cymru am byth!"
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