1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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