From Russia with Love
God! I will pack, order my plane,
And get me to England once again.
For England’s the one land I know
Where a Moscow parvenu may go,
Make Kensington by ten to three,
And know there’s caviar still for tea.
By private jet to Luton town,
We Oligarchs are raining down,
Sikorski rotors idling free
To whisk us on to Battersea;
And thence by liveried chauffeur
To One Hyde Park or Berkeley Square;
Or other bijou pieds-a-terre,
Courtesy of Candy Bros, and where
Your media, oil or metals Czar,
Who’s dreamed of Xanadu from afar.