Three widows of the Middle West
We’re grimly chewing gum;
The Lido chef a quail had dressed
With garlic and with rum,
And they were painfully oppressed
For they had eaten some.
Said One: “This famed El Greco guy
Gives me the blessed pip;
Them Saints look like they want to die –
Let’s give our guide the slip,
And in some bodega close by
A glass of vino sip.”
Said Two: “It’s this Cathedral stuff
That fairly gets me down.
I think one church is quite enough
In any Spanish town;
But here there’s four – that’s pretty tough
No matter their renown.”
Said Three: “It’s that Alcázar show
That simply knocked me out;
That dismal dungeon down below,
Then ruins all about;
That funny, fat old Moscardo
Who put the Reds to rout.”
Hey, Mister Guide! implored the Three,
“Return to gay Madrid.”
The guide was shocked, but trained was he
To do as he was bid.
So three dames of the Middle West,
Dyspeptically glum
Went back to town, and quite depressed
The guide was chewing gum.
