People think that Brussels is an interesting city,
Full of beer, full of mussels and pommes frites
And easy to buy a really nice box of chocolates
(which could well assist in putting on a kilo or two)
And, Hoorah, you can get yourself a big Belgian beer belly too
As they have some top-notch extra-strong Trappist ales.
But there is another side to this great city
Believe me, I know all to well, I have been there
And I have seen it in all its shocking terror,
Ugly wickedness and bestial black horror.
O me! O my! Please read no further if you have just had lunch
As you might easily throw the lot up on your shoesies.
I was there, just off the Grand\' Place (Grotemarkt in Flemish),
With my younger sister Deidre, a spectacularly ugly lassie,
Who had a very pronounced lisp and a dozen oozing facial pustules,
When a gang of ill-dressed, obese American youths,
Probably the sons of wealthy businessmen or diplomats,
Sky-high on coca-cola, or whatever tooth-rotting vile filth,
Made to attacked us, indicating they were aiming at a total bashing-up,
And we ran quite hard but could not escape from them,
Well, that\'s not entirely la verité, because I, bold Barry Hodges,
Managed to find a cleanish pissoir in which to cower until danger had passed
And those wicked mothers left her lying there in the gutter,
Her legs broken to bits, her prosthetic arm stolen,
And her unattractive macrocephalic head half-chopped off,
And for what? Why, they were envious of her false hairpiece
(as it made her look half-human, a major improvement
on her usual bald and scab-covered bulging dome).
The little slut dragged out a miserable half-alive existence
For a few dreary days in a dilapidated infirmary,
Which cost my insurance company an arm and a leg.
O heavens above, weep! Yea, cry out in anguish, ye gods!
Dear Deidre will not be going to old Brussels again
In fact she will not be going anywhere at all,
Apart from a one-way trip to an early grave, that is to say,
Which should be blindingly obvious to even the dimmest reader..