The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum