Oh, he's in a land, in a faraway place
Where the
columns roam
Where it's flat, immense as that
And the stink is intense like Rome
It's barbaric, but hey it's his home!
Oh, Mitch came from a land, from a faraway rat-race
Where the bobbies club your mum
Where they cut off your gear
On the platforms and in stations, to buy another pint of rum.
It's barbaric but that's just London
When the wind's from the east and the sand is just right
You are beckoned with a sigh,
to expat, to go away, to immigrate to Dubai
Come on down, just stop by
Hop a carpet and fly
To another Dubai night
Dubai nights, like Mitch's Dubai's days
More often than not
Are hotter than hot
In a lot of kaffir good ways
Arabian nights, 'neath the Burg shadow there
A fool off his guard
Could fall and fall hard
Out in those stinky dunes
from drinking in public, or viewing porn 'tunes
I wouldn't chance it, like Mitch from Dubai