Something about peole who are bowed legged, they kneel when they sit,
They don't need a seat,
They see with slant eyes,
They couldn't see finger number five.

They marched and burn,
Got bombed in turn,
With ashes back in urns,
They, their own girls spurned.

So now one a malicious write,
Thought his pen is his might,
I guess his pants is a tad too tight,
Squeezed crotch his penis is slight.

So next time you write a Chinese a chink,
Stand and smell if you stink,
Now before the drying of your ink,
Nasty responses before you blinked.