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Oh, child of the alien vine. Neither sheep, nor goat, where do you come from, of what people? Who can stop her, when the liberal white whore wants to fornicate? Yes, on the day when she turns her face away from her pure-bred husband. Lustfully she follows the abominable path of the wildebeest. She hurries her feet to Raka’s sin-hybrid orgy. She gives birth to her children, neither fish, nor meat. With a secondary soul, completely absent from God’s Holy Spirit.

Oh, child of the alien vine, neither sheep, nor goat, from where do you come, from which people again? With your blood dishonoured, with your skin coloured from white marble to muddy brown. You stand frustrated while you can only fantasise about lost noble lineage. There is no man who can stop you on the day when you
turn on your mother of fornication, in hatred and murder.

Oh, child of the alien vine. Where do you come from, from what nation and also people? Look, the cities of the West stand besieged by you as a Trojan horse, to their downfall. And no matter how the governments will try. You, as the bare-eating locust plague, will never be controlled again in this era. Your presence will indeed consume everything around you.

Oh, child of the alien vine, neither fish, nor flesh, nor sheep, nor goat, forever always unwelcome in another animal’s pen or cage. Across the colour line, once so amorously desired. You were fornicated out between white and black, to your sorrow. Like the wild ass of the veld, your whole being is completely dishonoured. Therefore your hatred and revenge now rightfully descend upon the West.