By 'Paris', I mean the colleague, not the city. Or the Trojan bloke played so woefully by that Bloom feller in the movie.
In Ancient Greece, with its Golden Fleece,
And its tales of brave Odysseus,
They celebrated conquests with physical contests
Like throwing a hammer or discus.
When they won a battle, they'd slaughter the cattle,
And sacrifice blood from their veins,
Then run round in circles, jumping over hurdles,
And so began Olympic Games.
Now they are tradition more than superstition,
They run every four years or so;
And if a politician says we want this competition,
Then we all have to cough up the dough.
But the hundred metre dash is a fucking waste of cash -
Just one of many frivolous expenses.
And why's it us that pays for events that last three days
And solely involve horses and fences?
In the days of old, it wasn't about gold -
Friendly competition was enough.
Plus the Ancient Greeks used to show off their physiques
By doing the whole thing in the buff.
So if we're spending money, let's make the whole thing funny,
Remembering the spirit of the Games,
And sit inside the stadia, watching genitalia,
Especially the ladies' beach volleyball.