Whenever Rachel Corie hung around,
We people in the tunnels looked at her:
She was one ugly b@#$ from sole to crown,
Bad flavored, and imperially dim.
And she was always noisily displayed,
And she was always addled when she talked;
But still she held those signs up when she said,
“no further!,” and she babeled when she fought.
And she was bitchy – yes, bitchier than a queen –
An adamant, a fool with ugly face:
In fine, we thought that she was everything
To make us wonder when she’d leave this place.
So on we worked, and waited for green light,
And smuggled ‘neath the street, and cursed the Jooos!;
And Rachel Corie, one calm spring-time day,
Sat down, got flattened and got on the news.
Looks like the usual rapist gave up in mid-violation, and she’s really PO’d.
