1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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