Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
That suede ferments is not at all well known
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum