Slough Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough! It isn't fit for humans now, There isn't grass to graze a cow. Swarm over, Death! John Betjeman 1937 First. verse Moscow Fall friendly bombs on dread Moscow much more deserving than poor Slough. Stand up, Putin; take a bow, Meet your fate, Death! You must get your just deserts, especially if it really hurts, both you and your grim perverts. Gasp your last breath! Destroy the city and the thug who sits at that table looking smug as he sets out to pull the plug on all mankind. Don’t forget Lavrov whose droopy features reveal the most cynical of creatures. Oh, he’s a credit to his teachers: Evil defined. And smash Russia Today (not tomorrow) And smash those who are spreading sorrow. Let’s see them all light up like flambeaux. Burn, baby, burn! And don’t spare the oligarchs who add to the profits of the repulsive Vlad. They are greedy rather than mad. Some never learn. They can’t pretend they didn’t know Vlad’s grand plan. It’s only the dough that interests them, going with the flow. Send them to Hell! Each one’s been delighted with his lot, spending millions on a superyacht while leaving compatriots to rot. Hear their death knell. Putin kills civilians by the score in this criminal act of war. He exudes venom from every pore. It’s payback time. Fall friendly bombs on dread Moscow, ensure it’s no longer fit for plough. Let nothing thrive there now. And spread quicklime.