The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum