When one with t'other straightaway agrees
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum