1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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