Before your mouth was fringed with hair,
All pricks might find a haven there,
Till hangmen loathed a boy so common,
And deadcart men preferred a woman.
When gamahuche no longer paid,
Your tongue was still your stock in trade,
No more to suck, but to discharge
Its venom on mankind at large;
On characters base slurs to fix,
As once it had polluted pricks.
Oh filthy tongue, you'd better far
Be what you were than what you are.