Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?