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Old Yasser is dead, so the telly has said
The leader of the Palestinian masses
Some cried and some screamed, about a lost dream
I just want to console all the lasses!
His illness came on rather quickly
So the old bloke was sent off to France
They airlifted him down, and Chirac said with a frown
Where the hell are Arafat's pants?
Chirac was more than a friend
to the Palestinian man he adored
Though he rarely sent aid, there was always a trade
For a never-ending supply of French whores!
Some say Yasser was a cold blooded killer
Wore a beard and carried a dagger
Shagged many odd dames, and liked to hijack
planes
But I much prefer to entertain!
(Short instrumental break and dance number)
Twas cirrhosis of the liver, the doctors professed
Though the cause is still a big riddle
The doctors all denied, the leader imbibed
Tis a sin to drink as well as diddle diddle
Young wife Suha stayed at his bedside
She cried and caused a big row
Professing her love, she prayed to Allah above
And screamed, where the hell did you hide all the dough?!
The U.N. paid him a final tribute
Called him a great leader, brave and wise
Though they may have forgot, all the people he shot
Especially those circumcised!
After nearly 40 years the leader is dead
And a future of peace we may soon see
To Chirac in France, the road map to peace is in his pants
And to Israel he now says, c'est la vie!
Fare thee well, Yasser. Don't worry, hell has a dry heat.
You get used to it.
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