Our Moral Advantage

It is a Russian weapons lab;
Its walls are nasty, squat and drab:
A building scrawny-treed and drear
And daubed with beige for extra fear.
Here evil boffins cooked up lots
Of cunning, fiendish Kremlin plots.
The last, though technically unproved,
Has left us all most deeply moved.

Though gassing of barbaric hordes
By decent British overlords
Was thought by Britain's greatest son
To be a jolly bit of fun,
The sainted Churchill never would
Condone as ethical or good
A foreign chemical attack
On anyone who wasn't black.

Therefore this dread and horrid place,
As moral blemish, vile disgrace,
Perversion of the name of science
And den of anti-West defiance,
Its infamy quite unallayed
By beige in execrable shade,
Is worthy of our sternest frown
And not at all like Porton Down.

Huck Larding