Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?