When one with t'other straightaway agrees
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum