Mugabe surveys his starving land from the shade
And the loyal thugs of his band all there arrayed
Thanks the Lord for barren soil
That doesn't bear a trace of oil
So the Yanks and Brits won't bother to invade
Mugabe sits at the forum there in Rome's delights
Quite a bit different from his dear home's sights
Where votes are counted once twice
And if needed even more than thrice
Until Robert decides when the result at last is right
Mugabe wears sun shades to disguise
That blood lust down deep in his eyes
While his wife's at the shops
Spending next year's crops
And Robert spins his web of racist lies
In Zimbabwe people starve and die
While Mugabe spins his racist lies
He's not treated with reserve
Or the contempt he deserves
Because it just wouldn't be PC to try
Mugabe surveys his starving land from the shade
And the loyal thugs of his band all there arrayed
Thanks the Lord for barren soil
That doesn't bear a trace of oil
So the Yanks and Brits won't bother to invade
