Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
His toga rumpled high above his knees
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
It's one of many horrid happenings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum