He sold me this pair of pyjamas
And said they'd once been Obama’s.
There’s a tag in this bag,
Proves,  you sly scallywag,
Those pyjama’s were really your Mama’s

. . . and his reply

I’ll admit  that they were not Obama’s
But what makes you think they’re my Mama’s
If you  re-read  the tag
(I know it’s a fag)
But you’ll see  they’re the old  Dalai Lama’s

A simple young farmer of Bray

Met a lass in his hayfield one day.

Said he, "If you want,

We could share a croissant,"

For he'd heard about rolls in the hay.