The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
The best of all things to an end must come