Zac was smart and Zac was cool
Zac had learned at boarding school
That boys like Zac were born to rule
His minions said, “Oh Zac, in May
Be lord of all that you survey”
Just one small thing stood in his way
Before Zac took his rightful place
He had one minor trial to face
He had to win a running race
Zac’s coach – named Lynton – was not nice
Like Zac, he’d pay most any price
To win, and gave Zac this advice
“Get your whistle, blow it hard
Claim your race and play your card
Let loose the dogs from hatred’s yard
“Set them on that lad Sadiq
That should stop his winning streak
Slow him down and make him shriek”
The dogs had teeth, the dogs had bite
The dogs were ready for a fight
The dogs were brown and black and white
They heard the whistle, formed a pack
Ran barking to the running track
– And sank their canines into Zac
Come the hour, the race was run
Not for Zac the winner’s gun
A Pakistani driver’s son
Came sprinting up the inside left
Lynton’s plan proved not so deft
As Zac lagged back and fell bereft
He learned, entitled Tory toff
We London dogs are not so soft
Now take your hate and buzz right off
