OR

WHAT WILL OUR CHILDREN

I say this without hurting anyone,
Our age is not the golden age;
But our son, we forgive me,
Be worth much less than we encor.
To populate the round machine
That is crazy to put his!
Ah! for nothing
Yes, no,
Finally we let the world
If our women wanted well.

Happy in that we are greedy,
We know sing a meal;
But our son, pesans gastronomes
Drink and do not sing.
On a fool to face ruddy,
They will make an Epicurean.
Ah! for nothing
Yes, no,
Finally we let the world
If our women wanted well.

With wits of our age,
The trouble we win often enough;
But two institutes, I pledge
Will compete in the next age.
To recruit round
Both find a way.
Ah! for nothing
Yes, no,
Finally we let the world
If our women wanted well.

We like a little war well,
But fear the rest.
Our son, sitting little,
Will fight at every turn:
Only the price of a furious zeal,
Laurel is all well.
Ah! for nothing
Yes, no,
Finally we let the world
If our women wanted well.

We gallant few, no doubt;
But our son, excess excess
Love wandering along the way,
No longer speak French to him:
They result, God confused!
The Art of Love in Italian.
Ah! for nothing
Yes, no,
Finally we let the world
If our women wanted well.

Thus, despite all the Sophists,
In our descendants we will
For great men journalists
Opera for fun;
Not a prudish virgin
Not even a lovable rascal!
Ah! for nothing
Yes, no,
Finally we let the world
If our women wanted well.

Flowers, friends, girding our heads,
We are vain wishes
For our worship and our festivals
Are in honor among our nephews
This chapter based Momus,
Home miss Dean.
Ah! for nothing
Yes, no,
Finally we let the world
If our women wanted well.