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 empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
← OPEN dataBase