1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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