1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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