1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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