1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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