For some time it has been written, in the white man’s blood, yes on the corrugated iron sheet of the Boer’s own shed. Oh, it is the beginning of the hour of distress. So, look deeply into the flames of the so vain, popular barbeque fire.  

Look into it and see the wild, dancing figure of Raca, the wild creature. There where he is sending his child soldiers, so bloodthirsty, to his enemy. For the maintenance of his army he does not have to sustain or hire anyone. With empty promises, he can incite them to great heights.

In the mismanagement of his stupid culture, there now are large populations here, in unprecedented numbers. In this way the once pure, Africa atmosphere, is now disfigured by mine pollution and industrial smoke columns. The once pure, clear water streams, has changed into waste-acid and there is no hope for recovery, or any cure.

So, dance oh Raca, be joyful and happy and drink your beer. Among other things, your downfall lurks in unemployment and it is already here. Look, soon nobody is hired anymore. Yes, with the West sending you less and less aid. So the hate against the Boer is once again incited by the Jew.

In the flame of the fire, it is written in blood, yes, on the corrugated iron sheet of the Boer’s own shed: Oh, it is the hour and amongst the hop-houses there is the dangerous rattling of gunfire. The weather is grey and bleak, while white blood disfigures the surface of the land.

The fields are standing empty, and in the kraal there is no movement of any animal. Everywhere it is famine upon famine that will triumph. So there is nothing left, in food energy, so that the creature can dance exuberantly around his already dead fire.