Arrivederci l'età della pietra
Here we are in Sicily,
We stone-age Mafiosi.
The weather’s acting pissily,
Fan Tutte’s not so Cosi.
The sun is large and hard and bright –
Small comfort for a troglodyte.
We sip Sicilian water,
Unpleasant and frizzante –
After a mammoth slaughter,
We’d rather raise the ante –
Give us fruit we could abuse –
An offer we could not refuse.
Don Corleone’s sipping
Some pressed Italian bat:
The supplier will be kipping
With the sabre tooths for that –
Here’s Giovanni, looking bored.
I wonder what’s inside his gourd.
A very wholesome flavour:
I’m getting earth and grape –
With notes of nut. A caver
Is left in different shape –
There’s such a lot of talk in it!
(Luigi, put a cork in it.)
Let’s slur a new apostrophe
To this, our bella donna –
And as the Cosa Nostra, we
Must each respect its honour:
Triceratops and Brontosaur?
Who cares about them any more!
