Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
It's one of many horrid happenings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum