Pater Moore lived in Highgate.
Knew an Irishman, mighty odd
Who had a brogue both rich and sweet,
And to rise in the world ran a carb centre

Now Peter had a tippling way,
With a love of The Black Rose he was born
And to send him on his way each day
A bottle of vino blanco every morn.

One morning Pete was feeling full
Warwick was shouting, it made him shake
That The Ross had lost its mooring
And he was being pestered by Neil Gates

The brave ship survived The Goodwins fate
And it's still around to this very day
Broadcasting legally now on six four eight
But Nelly still wants to have the last say!