Irene the scientist
There once was a girl named Irene / Who lived on distilled kerosene / But she started absorbing / A new hydrocarbon / And since then has never benzene.
Writer named Bing
A magazine writer named Bing / Could make copy from most anything; / But the copy he wrote / of a ten-dollar note / Was so good he now lives in Sing Sing.
One Saturday morning at three / A cheese-monger’s shop in Paree / Collapsed to the ground / With a thunderous sound / Leaving only a pile of de brie.