She was a little English snail, he was of French extraction
And tho’ the ocean rolled between, he loved her to distraction.
He asked her on the telephone, in tones of deep emotion,
If she would brave the stormy seas and cross the mighty ocean.
“Oh no” she said, “I love you, but no matter
I could not come to live in France, where snails are fried in batter.”
Mabel Blunt & Carolyn Chamberlain/England
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