Thus is the week the Oil “reborn”,
Defence scrounged and thrown like dead flowers do now,
Anon, the bastard signs of an Ekholm pickup were born,
Or durst inhabit, like a flea, on yon carcass’d Oil’d cow;
Today, the Orange tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, shall be shorn away,
Thrive will our second line on McDrai’s head;
Ere Wheelhaus' renew’d fleece live to Bjug another day:
In Nino these holy antique hours are seen,
Without Dubois, himself’s lower body skewed,
But yo, Shuffles and JoMo make summer of Oily spleen,
Helly robbing McDrai to dress his beauty new;
New coach bounces doth Nature safely store,
To show false Art and slatterns Oil’d of yore.