He bent right down to pick up his valise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum