At five precisely out went La Marquise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The genealogist with field and fess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum