At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum