At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum