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The Ukrainians grow lots of wheat,
But for fuel they are still on the teat;
Russia sells them their gas
And they’ll sure kick their ass,
If their payments they’re failing to meet.

On the vast fertile plains of Ukraine,
They grow great gobs of glorious grain,
And this grain it could feed
A great army indeed,
But such thoughts, they are rather insane.

The great hero, the Rus – Vladimir,
He is quirky but clearly not queer,
He may take off his shirt
As he plays in the dirt,
But at all times he covers his rear.

As the readers are getting quite sick,
Of each Tartar inspired limerick,
I will just have to cease
And restoreth the peace,
For ‘tis clear that I get on their wick.