He bent right down to pick up his valise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum