1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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