294.  YOU WON'T FIND ANY COUNTRY
Melody--The Wild Rover
 I've searched the world over, excitement I've sought,
But all my experience was dearly bought.

CHORUS: So it's no, nay, never,
No nay never no more,
You won't find any country,
Where it pays you to score.

To tap a Yank for a good screw, in my belief,
Is like asking Mrs. Custer to give to Indian relief,
in the last year or two they've not used their tush,
'Cause they're shagged up the arse by a cowboy called 						Bush.

The Dutch they just sit there, arsehole on bike,
One finger up nostril and one in a dyke,
And if they feel chilly when these things they perform,
They put their caps up girls' pussies to keep their heads 		warm.

Now haircuts for Germans are four times the price,
They charge for each corner and go over it twice,
And if you pick up a harlot now don't throw her out,
Though her snatch it smells strongly, they just love 						sauerkraut.

The Swiss nation at loving are antiseptic,
They put germolene, not vaseline, on their prick,
The Swiss yodel is to cover their sheeps' anguished 						calls,
For their Toblerone pricks make triangular holes.

The Aussies are known for their intake of beer,
And they've all been in Sidney, now isn't that queer,
To keep flies off from their hat corks are hung,
'Cause a zipper can be painful if caught on the tongue.

From Paul Woodford, "Hash Hymns II" (Honolulu, Hawaii, 1994)