1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
← OPEN dataBase