1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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