1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum