At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum