For The Defence Poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis

'This Cen-TEEN-ary,' sez 'e
Sez I, 'You'll pardon me.'
(Perlite, like that, first off, and 'arf in laughter).
'You'll pardon me, I'm sure,'
I sez: 'but, speakin' pure,
Cen-TEN-ary, I think's, the word you're after.'

'Cen-TEEN-ary!' sez 'e;
An' looks fair, bang at me
All sort of snakey-eyed an' irritated.
Sez I, 'Don't be absurd,
For the dictionary word
Is Cen-TEN-ary. It's much more edjacated.'

'Cen-TEEN-ary!!' sez 'e.
Some'ow, 'e seemed to be
The sorta bloke wot gits me back up proper.
'Aw, brush yer brains!' sez I,
Gettin' 'ot. (I dunno why.)
'Cen-TEN-ary!' I sez. 'You darn clod-'opper!'

'Cen-TEEN-ary!!!' sez 'e,
As snarky as could be.
You know the sorta bloke I mean - pig-'eaded).
'Cen-TEN-ary, you fool!
Ain't you never been to school?'
Sez I. An' then things 'appened - like I dreaded.

'Cen-TEEN-ary!!!' sez 'e.
An' 'e swings a left at me
That would 'a' knocked me cold, if it 'ad landed.
'Ho! A gentleman!' I sneers;
'Full of nice, perlite idears.'
Then I ups an' tears right into 'im, two-'anded.

'Cen-TEEN-ary,' squeaks 'e.
(Still obstinit, yeh see).
Well, it weren't no time for bein' tender-'arted,
So I spreads 'im on the floor,
An' 'e never sez no more ....
So, please yer Worship, that was 'ow it started.