1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

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