1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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