He bent right down to pick up his valise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
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
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum