1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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