He bent right down to pick up his valise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The genealogist with field and fess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum