When American savages weave a fierce hunger from empty bellies
They glare towards France with tigers' eyes
To Paris and Mont Saint-Michel.
Subtle plans they devise,
Not for meat, nor bread or tea,
But for fragile French girls
Vulnerable in their beds.
Yet, French women are subtly strong
Very witty, smart and pretty.
They tease these tigers,
Stuff them with red bull macarons,
Escape their fate,
Give them heart attacks instead.
Pauvres américain sauvage!
Those savages should have just blown kisses and said,
Salut les filles, doux rêves, bien dormir!
(Something like that, but much less cavalier)
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