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Respect Pour France?


They love their own wine and they will hate the rest
They think their own food is always the best
Its drenched in greasy oil or some odd vinegar dressing
And with my British Steak they are always messing


Their trains are so dirty and much less than suave
Frequently they are missing, "Oh no! Not another 'La Grave'"
Their airports are decaying and Charles de Gaulle is a tip
How I dread these short notice, two day business trips


Gare de Nord is no better, off the R.E.R I tramp
The Waiting room for Eurostar is like a refugee camp
There is seating for one hundred andwe wait, what a bore
But as the train seats a thousand, there are nine hundred on the floor


I give up on my French colleagues, I have to confess
From their odd sense of deadline, to their bizarre dress sense
Not a suit owned between them and there is one final quirk
The Manager of this bunch wears white socks to work


"Vive La France" they shout, with Garlic breath stenched
In our schools we are told that we should all speak French
Its the second language at Eurovision, but lets not pretend
Who speaks that damned language, outside that foul land?


Their canteens are strange and they wish "Bon Appetite!"
But can anyone please tell me, what type is that meat?
Is it "Beuoff"? Is it Chicken? What is that main course?
And then I remember, this is the place where they eat Horse


So "Nul Point Francaise" from this Bemuddled Bard
No "Jeux San Frontier" I'm showing France the Red' Card
It's a marathon endurance, it's not a "Fil Rouge"
And I'm heading for home and some decent British Food.