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.