The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The understanding critic firstly sees
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
With gravity at gravity's great cog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
And let you off from your opinions glum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum