1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
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
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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