At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
His toga rumpled high above his knees
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum