In our days of freedom lost,
These days of death and facile wrath,
That vile bard shall take us aloft.
With his gross wit, again we shall laugh!
Once there was a great fat caliph
That awoke one day very sick!
Discovered it was through mischief,
Missing from his hand was his boy's prick.
Throughout the castles, and through the lands
Nowhere was the lost prick to be found!
Poor Caliph wailed for his missing glands,
But was interrupted by shouts abound.
An infidel had come, a Frank no less,
Bearing pretty pricks in galore!
The caliph ran and forgot to dress,
Only to find wood pricks and nothing more...
The caliph only said "Why?" before he fainted,
"I'm the best prick merchant on the sea,"
Said the Frank who shall be sainted.
"Surely you know me? Je Suis Charlie."