Don’t clone me until I’m dead. Better still, after the Raelians are.

© Copyright Pip Wilson, 2010

I'm glad I was born an Australian
Not the clone of some lesbian Raelian;
I'd feel rather weird
To put dye in my beard.
To an Australian, that's rather alien.

I'd hate to be somebody's lackey
Especially to someone so wacky
As a shyster rapscallion
Who wears a medallion
And a moustache like some Boston Blackie.

It's a picture that’s better unpictured,
A moustache like Little Richard’s.
Little Richard was hip,
But Rael's upper lip –
Well, I can't think of nothing more wretched.

I don't mind the company of aliens;
Nor Buddhists, nor yet Episcopalians,
A Rajneeshi or Jew,
Even a Muslim or two,
But they can punch it, all of them Raelians.

I suppose I'm a narrow Australian
(they say that we are sub-mammalian),
But I'd die if some bloke
in a white satin cloak
Cloned me into an alien Raelian.