England's over-run it says,
By violent blacks and gruesome gays
They'll fill you up with so much fear,
You'll want the world to end next year.'
Too Late, for Frederick, groaning slow,
Begins to tut and tut...... Oh no!
He tuts and sighs and shakes his head,
At all the dreadful things he's read!

The pussy-cats saw this,
And they began to hiss,
'It's now too late
He's full of hate'
'Me ow,' they said, 'me-ow, me-oh'
'His head is just about to blow!'

His frenzied tutting grew much faster,
As Frederick read of more disaster,
His tutting it grew louder still,
His cheeks were redder than a grill!
His head rotated on its stalk,
His eyes popped out like champagne corks!
And finally his noggin blew,
His brain shot up the chimney flue!

And when the good cats sat beside,
His bloody body, how they cried!
'Me-ow,' they said, 'me-ow, me-oo'
'What will his poor, sad daughters do?'
'Me-ow,' they said, 'Me-ow, me-oh,
'What a mindless way to go!'

And that is all there is to say,
The crows all feasted well that day!