1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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