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- A U S C H W I T Z
- – The Ballad of Tour Guide Titty Fart –
- by Phil Sparkin
- Come, let us sport with Titty Fart,
- queen of the surviving art.
- Auschwitz horrors are her pride.
- Auschwitz grim and gruesome guide.
- Titty, what lies rotting there?
- Toenails, dentures, various hair
- dark and curly, blonde more rare,
- clippings from shaggy dogs,
- less than human golliwogs,
- not least survivors share?
- Titty, those massed underpants –
- did they reach the sky perchance?
- While on tiptop trilled the lark,
- ‘Buy your pants at Marks and Spark.’
- Trill blithe spirit, throbbing breast!
- How about a tiptop nest?
- Titty, did hebraic fat
- bubble in huge Auschwitz vat?
- Is it true when chimneys smoked
- stoking up the Holohoax,
- Hungarian smoke was blue,
- Polish smoke a greener hue?
- Did lush looming lady Jews
- create the boom in cast-off shoes?
- Did rag-bone vagrants in cahoots
- provide the show with rotting boots?
- Titty, when you joined the rush
- to add another tatty brush
- to the growing grisly pile,
- how tender your enigmatic smile?
- Did obscene fake photograph
- produce a thin hebraic laugh?
- Did non-Dresden bellies buckle
- with a cackle or a chuckle?
- Titty, was it here Anne Frank
- indulged in some unseemly prank?
- Did she sport another diary
- frankly titled Auschwitz Liary?
- Did she wield that biro pen?
- Discuss anatomy of men?
- And when she fully came on stream,
- did she stamp and slap and scream?
- But only now and then!
- Or was it all papa’s sweet dream?
- Remember Titty, how you ran
- beside incited Princess Anne?
- Plugged six million fairy tales
- grotesque as Jonah swallowing whales.
- Brought compassion to the boil
- in a simple brain-washed royal.
- As you briefed the moist-eyed Anne,
- tell us how you kept dead-pan.
- Titty, is it still hush-hush
- once you very nearly blushed?
- Charles’ popping eyes pop-popped,
- princely lower jaw just dropped...
- When you claimed God spoke from Heaven –
- “Not six million, Tit, BUT SEVEN.”
- Titty, where’s the new mass grave –
- skulls and skeletons Jews crave?
- And bigger buckets for tears?
- And more significant souvenirs?
- Lucky You, when shone beneath
- golden gleam – Rebecca’s teeth!
- Tit, who was any wiser
- when you prised out her incisor?
- And instead of coca-cola
- you clutched her upper molar,
- while you sold authentic ash
- for cash. Kept all of it.
- Titty, now the nuns have left,
- where’s the fun to feel bereft?
- So let us to the swimming pool,
- to the deep end where it’s cool,
- not where gasees cooled their knees
- before the concert – if you please!
- There, extended you and I,
- Titty, shall on sun beds lie.
- Whiff of zyklon! But no lice
- or buzzing flies or pale rabbis!
- Titty, as the sunset pales,
- tell me tall gas chamber tales.
- It must have been like sardine tins!
- But caviare! Not fish with fins!
- Is it true by Holy See
- the gas alarm installed was free?
- Did the Nazis bet a nickel on
- just how quick would be that zyklon?
- Did the gasees slam their fivers
- not on ham, but ham survivors?
- Was gas chamber large enough?
- Was there time to properly stuff?
- Doubts those vile revisionists feel.
- Stuffing makes it hard to seal!
- Titty, now in moonlight glow,
- you all silvered, me in tow...
- Guide me where Pope John once stood,
- feeling, one feels, holy good,
- careless of unblessed home goals,
- blessing those four million souls.
- Lead me to that sacred spot
- where John blessed the blessed lot...
- Official figure now one million!
- Lead me to that tragic spot...
- Not one survivor!
- Three million souls that went to pot!
- Titty, Titty, what came after?
- Surely, Titty, not God’s laughter?
- Spare a shekel tender heart
- for Tit and Beauty – all that art
- to guide you to the nearest bones,
- provide you with gas chamber groans,
- even to give you gas – TIT’S FART.
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