With Indian corn your crop must be crammed.'
So even while breathing and heaving sighs,
I am destined for roasts or Strasburg pies.
My mind is lost for ever,
I only grow in the liver;
They never ask, 'Is she gentle and fair?'
They only ask, 'What weight will she bear?
Is that our reward, because well behaved?
The world's capital one night we saved.
For, as they had been drinking,