Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The Turks said just take anything you please
That suede ferments is not at all well known
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum