Yet I’ve a sort a Yorkshire relish for⁠ ⁠…

My little shy little lass has a waist.

Best, best of all, Baraabum!

Yorkshire through and through.

Come on all!

Though she’s a factory lass And wears no fancy clothes.

Levitates over heaps of slain in the garb and with the halo of Joking Jesus, a white jujube in his phosphorescent face.

My methods are new and are causing surprise. To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.

With a huge emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls.