The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum