The Macaronis

 Italian people peaceful are,--
 Let it be to their credit.
They mostly fail to win a war,
 --Oh they themselves have said it.
"Allergic we to lethal guns
 And military might:
We love our homes and little ones,
 And loath to fight."

But Teutons are a warrior race
 Who seek the sword to rattle;
And in the sun they claim a place,
 Even at price of battle.
The prestige of a uniform
 Is sacred in their sight;
They deem that they are soldiers born
 And might is right.

And so I love Italians though
 Their fighting powers are petty;
My heart with sympathy doth go
 To eaters of spaghetti.
And if the choice were left to me,
 I know beyond a doubt
A hundred times I'd rather be
 A Dago than a Kraut.

Form: Ballad

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