Lady, three white leopards drank a toast,
Some marmalade and Sunday roast,
Then ate a brace of peppermint tree,
Some mulberry pie and shin of knee.
And when the winds of winter came,
They went outside and sang again,
Here we go round the prickly pear,
The jaggy dwarf, the scented stair,
We sing our song of Christmas-Tide,
Of Easter Daz and Omo-wide,
The ocean’s foam, the bubble-bath rail,
The washing powder’s sent to jail,
For we make no sound, no cry or simper,
And sink below with a bang, not a whimper.