Svetlana from Tirana
Svetlana from Tirana wore a hammer and a sickle.
It was tattooed rather crudely on her chest.
“This is Marx,” she said, “and Lenin”
When she let her many men in
And a chorus of The Red Flag did the rest.
When they ordered open borders, sweet Svetlana from Tirana
Cheered the jammy dodger Hoxha’s last hurrahs,
Then she joined the happy gala
At the local needle parlour,
And had her symbols changed to stripes and stars.
Now Svetlana from Tirana, with her fresh Americana,
Runs a democratic cat-house, even-handed.
She will feel a foreign collar
If you pay her by the dollar,
And for that you’re bound to see a different standard.