1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
← OPEN dataBase