“Give me your tired, your poor, Seeth Efrikaaans
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door,
And a rand in every hand, that nature’s bounty aint colourblind
In this brown and pleasant land”.
Dear reader, you’ll be immeasurably pleased to know that the noble spirit of compassion runs deep within the veins of Australian politicians. As we are “Internationally famous within Australia”, for giving our allies a hand to annoint un-civilised subject races the benefits of the Australian way”, (as we have so nobly performed for the peoples of Iraq, Afghanistan, Vietnam, North Korea, and places too numerous to mention), so we are compelled to give compassion and succour to persecuted minorities. As Mr Dutton said, white South African farmers need the “protection of a civilised people”. The fact is, after all these years South Africans are not civilised. Or, to be precise, the inference is that black, (the vast majority) are not civilised. Indeed, there is corruption, nepotism, and famously with the Gupta family’s dealing with Jacob Zuma, deep seated conflicts of interest that see public funds diverted from the people. Just like we do with Adani, and Exxon, and every other HUGE multinational company that Pays NO TAX.
In South Africa its worse. Whilst people rot on Manaus Island and Nauru our hearts are turned to the veldt, and the plight of persecuted minorities. Not the one’s we gladly walk-away from when we signed a deal with Indonesia over East Timor. Nor the ones we daily ignore in the other part of New Guinea that used to be Dutch. But the white farmers on the veldt.
WE do have great sympathy for them, They get fuck all subsidies, just like their Australian counterparts, and propably had to push a few natives off the land when they settled there in the seventeeth and eighteenth centuries.
And their plight, just like the Tibetan’s is soon forgot, cept for out pollies who like white farmers everywhere, relish the prospect of rolling back firearms laws, and the smell of the old testament.
Just like Ol Kabul, The last man standing, (riding is a bit like standing)
And so we have added to the call with this stirring piece by pcbycp’s own poet, Ruddy-arsed Kriplling (K.G. C.B.E. DSO V.C)
Across the White Empire
“From all across the White Empire, The bagpipes shrill note beckon’s,
Where once was bathed in roseate pink, don’t waste the precious seconds
From Mafeking, and Ladysmith, we heard it on the wire, though Johnny Boer is beat and gone, our heartstrings are afire,
The kaffirs they wont do the work, and wont stand no more the beatings,
Is that the sheep out there? That sound we hear, or another distant bleating,
Dimly heard, and shrill the sound, in baleful erudition, comes the clarions call “to arms, to arms”, from aussie politicians
From Bloemfontein and Spion Kopje, the word spread across the land, that Britannia’s offspring needed us, to give a helping hand
Though the Commissioner, is long time gone, and the Superintendant’s on a pension, the natives they are restless now, there’s a state of aprehension
Round the Drift, upon the Veldt, and through the farming dorp, the trickling sands through the hourglass say “it’s time to sally forth”!
And as we did at ol Kabul in 42, when the Afghani’s had us running, As Cetwayo’s warriors tried to do us in with all their wit and cunning,
Send then now a great white fleet, and summon the spirit of Kitch, to pile em up as we did at Rorke’s, and bury em in a ditch.
They must be told, put in their place, for crimes we dare not mention,
From aussie land the gesture comes, Seeth EEEfrikaans need an INTERVENTION”!!
