1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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