When I think of France, I think of Marianne
With hair of ash and fines attaches,
An exotic dancer with a fan.  
I think of faux Renoirs and stale Gauloises,
The Croix de Guerre and Laissez Faire
And crepes suzettes and underwear

When I think of Italy, I think of Donatella
With hazel eyes and lean brown thighs
That made me cry “Che bella!”
I ponder too on olive oil and ochre soil,
Umbrella pines and trailing vines,
And searching for Etruscan shrines.

When I think of Germany, I think of Wilhelmina
Whose flaxon tresses and dirndl dresses
Encouraged misdemeanour.  
I think of marching troops, potato soups,
Mercedes cars and Munich bars,
And Berlin rallies for Nazi Czars

When I think of the USA, I think of Betty Grable
In bikini pink or coat of mink
And mules with bows of sable.
I think of stars and stripes and Marlboro Lites,
Cadillac cars and men on Mars
And Hollywood moguls with big cigars.

When I think of Australia, Kylie springs to mind
With bubble gum and stud in tongue
A tattooed rose on her behind.
I think of rubber thongs and billabongs,
Kangaroos and a harbour cruise
And next door’s Esky full of booze.

When I think of England, I think of pretty Heather
From county stock in floral frock
She smelt of soap and leather.
I think of bicycle clips and fish and chips,
Wimbledon tennis and chaps called Dennis
And rows upon rows of suburban semis.

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