He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
And let you off from your opinions glum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum