Vārdi: Flanders & Swann. The Chameleon.

Consider the Chameleon, he colours himself and his opinions by the company he's in.

In Belfast, he's an Orangeman, the shade is quite ephemeral,

Directly he moves south, it fades, In Dublin, look: He's emerald.

In church on Sunday he turns gold, and sings the 'love thy neighbour' hymn.

Monday he's black and buys a stick, the better to belabour him.

He says; 'All men are equal' when in Trinidad or Malibar,

But in his green in Paddington, he shouts; 'We'll keep the colour bar'.

This parti-coloured fellow, you'll find that underneath, is yellow.

With Tories blue, with reds vermilion, and chequered when he meets MacMillian.

That's the Chameleon. If that Chameleon were me, I'd be ashamed to sham.

Each night, all white between the sheets, I'd wonder who I am.