For many years in Sadam's day,
I tortured folks in wicked ways,
I'd electrocute and poke about
'til they were left right up the spout.
But now Sadam, his days are gone,
Yet strangely my old job goes on.
'twas globalised quite nastily
The good guys stole my job from me
Oh raise the blood stained sheets on high
Beneath their folds they still will die,
But my torturing days they are no more,
Migrant labour's taken o'er