Everything you read is sleight of prose;
Everything you see is sleight of limb;
Everything you scent is sleight of nose;
Everything we do is slightly dim.
Everything we do's the stuff of myth;
Everything we build will tumble down;
How dull the world if we were Jones or Smith!
Everything about us smells of Brown.
Everything we do can cause confusion;
Everything about us is a scheme;
Everything we do is mere illusion;
Anything we say may make you scream.
Each of us is more than entertainer,
Each of us, a man of secret action.
Each of us is strictly a no-brainer;
Each of us is just a work of faction.
Which of us would you consider vilest?
Which of us would you take home to Mother?
Which of us is what you'd call a stylist?
And can you pick one Brown out from another?
We are a trio riding on a tandem;
We are a cloud of dust in Brownian motion,
Which is to say, our acts are almost random.
We're Browns. Drink down our almost-magic potion.
Read the Times story about the Brown poll here