1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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