1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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