1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
← OPEN dataBase