1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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