1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
← OPEN dataBase