The Smell Of Mussolini
When summer days have gayly passed away,
And winter months have darkly come again,
And when sweet spring does bring the laughing day,
There still shall be a bloody, ling'ring stain;
It's name and character of Mussolini,
The brute who killed with bombs of liquid flame;
We hate him, yes we hate him, good and plenty;
We hate the "smell" of that most brutal name.
A Roman steeped in envy and murder,
He stole the lands of all the Christian blacks;
But he shall have his gaseous thunder
Thrown back some day on mad Italians backs;
And when that day does really come, my men,
We will give it to them with bolts of steel,
And run the Italian out his bloody den.
To make him see the Negro's commonweal.
A thousand years may be the waiting time,
To strike the brute that came from cursed Rome;
But keep your courage high and quite sublime,
For that great day to hit the trail for home;
For every Roman soldier shall fall down,
And lick the dust in very penitence,
As Hannibal did make them kiss the ground,
We too shall crush them in our self defence.
No one shall help an Italian man,
In any way of other human beings,
For he is one with Mussolini's clan
That seek to change the world to Roman scenes:
Let all Italians live and die in shame,
For what their Mad Dog did to our dear home:
Their Mussolini's bloody, savage name
Smells stink from Addis back to sinful Rome.
No cause that links Italian liberty
Shall have appeal to us, in peace or war;
No one will ask us in our sobriety
To help the Italian, near or far:
In clash of arms, on Europe's fields of blood,
No help must Negroes give to Roman cause,
For it must be for ever understood
That Italians keep no sacred laws.
We shall march past the ancient Vatican,
To sack the gates of Italian Rome,
And make them feel the hand of vengeful man,
Who first was driven from his natural home:
With English, German, French or other hordes,
We'll march to crush the Italian dog,
And at the points of gleaming, shining swords,
We'll lay quite low the violent, Roman hog.
-1936