When one with t'other straightaway agrees
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum