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Long before the colonialists came
With a club and a Bible to tame,
Came one Nicholas Abercombie,
Upon his chest a cross of fashioned tree
On which he said the Savior died,
And could Africans seek His love;
The mercies of one God above? 

But when he reached the land of Kenya
With his red-bearded junior,
The primitive souls who knew this treachery before
Met him as one unfortunate foe;
They slayed his red and bubbling throat
For they deemed him a sign of drought.
And when his companion this misery saw,
He knew it was his turn for woe
And fled in a rickety boat
Before he could be by heathens fought.

The mutilated corpse was fed to the dogs
As prescribed by the wizard of Blongs,
Thus ending the troubles of Nicholas Abercombie;
For that was what my granny told me
When I was a little child,
Before I began  to graze in the wild.

And so the story is told:
Could the fallen Abercombie live again whether young or old,
He could shun all vessels that float on water
Or those that pierce the air
That lead to the no-go land of Kenya;
Nor would he attempt to set his foot there!

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