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
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
The best of all things to an end must come