When one with t'other straightaway agrees
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The genealogist with field and fess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum