1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
← OPEN dataBase