At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum