Oh, Bavay

Oh, Bavay, oh Bavay,
What words can I give, what words can I say?
My first time to set foot in the Frenchland,
Though much too swift to ever take you in.
Just over the border from where I dwell,
Quite easy to stumble upon coming from the land of Belg.
I’ve heard of the delights of your cheese,
So many to savor, though a few might send your nose in retreat.
The tales have also come of your wines of rouge and blanc,
And you just might sway my mind to drink from that grape font.
So, let not worry come, for I shall soon return again,
To the land of the French, and maybe even to Bavay.