1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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