It was nineteen fifteen, and you know what that means;
In a festering trench, far from Mother,
Some poor little shit, either German or Brit
Was fighting for something or other.
It is not very often you see men
like my guy - he was stronger than three men
brave and clever, a sexual demon -
but he died, and I have to affirm
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I'm just a solitary swine, a
bit surprised to end up here;
a gift from far away in China
not a cause of fright nor fear.
In the Canberra night, all seemed quiet, or not quite -
whilst Beat Ettlin was settling in bed
in his Bond's underwear, an intruder prepared
an attack that would fill him with dread.
My drink will beat all other drinks
(or so this hard-line Hindu thinks).
It packs a special punch - and how?
It's pre-digested by a cow.
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