A bit of talcum Is always walcum.
Dogs display reluctance and wrath If you try to give them a bath. They bury bones in hideaways And half the time they trot sideaways.
I hope my tongue in prune juice smothers, If I belittle dogs and mothers.
Neath tile or thatch That man is rich Who has a scratch For every itch.
The reason for much matrimony is patrimony.
But children, hark! Your mother would rather, When you arrived, have been your father.