Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
And let you off from your opinions glum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum