Our brains are decidedly tiny;
Our thoughts are especially small;
But on balance we guess
That the Syrian distress
Will be helped out by bombing them all.
Yes, our noddles are wee little bobs;
Our skulls have a nous like a gnat in them
And whenever they ask us
On the flight to Damascus
We smile and say, yes, we will flatten them.
They’re minuscule, our cerebella;
We’ve hardly a single grey cell.
Still, the Syrian hordes
Will get their due rewards
When we blow all their households to hell.
Our brains haven’t got any matter:
In fact, they are small than peas.
The Syrian might just
Feel rather less righteous
If we kill rather more (missiles, please!)
We’re modern and fashionably gormless;
In our skulls there’s a cavernous space:
But this we declare
(With the blessing of Blair) –
Bombing ad lib solves the case.