I do not like that Deirdre dud,
Nor do I like Lucien the stud,
Who wanders up to English misses
Constantly demanding kisses.

He's engaged to a girl he won't go see,
Because he's too busy ogling a deranged gypsy.
And even though he thinks he loves her best,
He still makes googoo eyes at every other girl's chest.

As for his scheme to save his cousin Vaughan,
It would not rescue a beached prawn.
For if Lucien were killed in his cousin's stead,
Vaughan would still inherit when he was dead,

Then poor dear Vaughan would still have no shield,
With nitwit Lucien buried in a field.
No, moody Lucien with his copious kin,
Does not make me want to grin.

Instead I gnash my teeth and moan,
How many cousins does the clunch own?
So Bernice, do not try to make me read it,
I promise you I will not heed it.

For lusty Lucien and all his kin,
Just make me rush for Mandarin.