Each and every morn I wake And rouse myself from sleep. I stretch and yawn, and stretch again, Then out of bed I leap. Into my pantaloons I strap My heaving, sweaty frame. I'm Fraser Allonby Q.C.: Well knows the world my name. My larder groans with sweet delights With which I'll break my fast. I gorge on buns and pies and ale And relish my repast. I stroll into my robing room Wherein forthwith I dress My bulk in courtly finery: I wear only the best. I place upon my head so large My newly powdered wig, And hide within black folds of gown My hindquarters so big. I prance into the morn so fair And heave my bulk to court Wherein I speak of equity, And negligence, and tort. My clients pay me by the hour And augment my vast riches. I spend my wealth on whores and port And jewel-encrusted britches. All the comments that I post Are more or less the same I'm Fraser Allonby Q.C.: Well knows the world my name.