At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb