When one with t'other straightaway agrees
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The understanding critic firstly sees
That suede ferments is not at all well known
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum