At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The understanding critic firstly sees
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
And let you off from your opinions glum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum