old Banja Luka shot to fame:
the grounds for a jolly new game,
played over and over again.
The rule was to chop a man when
he had a good Bosniak surname;
If he had a Serb-sounding name,
the rule was to rape his women.
Let's find a foe, make his blood spill,
and gloat over his dying scream;
we will emerge victors won't we?
To build muscles, to bolster will,
to strengthen the bonds of the team,
let's play genocide, you and me.