The Fukawi Tribe

Exerpt from a traditional monologue of forty minutes duration which was always rendered by the oldest man present at the Royal Navy "Sod´s Operas" or stag parties. It concluded as follows:

Leader: And now, gentlemen, we has the Fukawi tribe.
Audience: The Fukawi tribe?
Leader: Yes, gentlemen, the Fukawi tribe; they lives in the deep jungles of darkest South America. Not one of ´em over four feet tall, an´the grass where they lives grows to eight feet, and they trots at a lopin´ pace through the undergrowth on a circular course, an´ every now and then the Chief sticks ´is ten foot spear in the ground, climbs to the top of the shaft, shades ´is eyes from the sun with one hand, peers over limitless miles of sun-bleached eight-foot-hight esparto grass, and shouts...
Audience: What does he shout?
Leader: He shouts, " We´re the Fukawi!"
Audience: Groans. Then sings: Oh my, what a rotten song, What a rotten song, what a rotten song, Oh my, what a rotten song; And what a rotten singer toooo!