1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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