The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum