race

Jeremy Clarkson Poem Number Eleven

Eeny, Morris Minor, Moe
Catch a Clarkson by his toe
If he hollers, don’t let go,
Eeny, Morris Minor, Moe.

Jeremy always seemed
Like such a nice bloke,
The way he’d drive,
The way he spoke
(About feckless Mexicans
And sloping Asians,
Jeremy had a quip
For all occasions!).

Who would have thought
There could be any basis
On which to label
Him a racist?

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