Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
That suede ferments is not at all well known
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum