1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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