Panvel Slow

There was an Old Man of CST
Who shunned the trains and BEST.
He travelled secretly,
And very quietly -
That pantherine old man of CST.

There was an Old Woman of Masjid
Whose Zodiac was rather cuspid.
Part Sagittarian,
Part vegetarian -
That amphibian Old Woman of Masjid.

There was an Old Man of Sandhurst Road
To whom gratitude is at first owed -
For he and his ratsnake
The city pest-free make -
That ophidian Old Man of Sandhurst Road.

There was a Young Man of Dockyard Road
who had a house built out of cardboard.
He taught all his geese
To walk on their knees -
That anserine Young Man of Dockyard Road.

There was a Young Lady of Reay Road
As furious as a missile's payload.
Everyday she would peck
At her husband's paycheck -
That fowl-tempered Young Lady of Reay Road.

There was a Young Man of Cotton Green
Who'd keep even a small button clean.
He'd rinse it in phenyl,
And soak it for a while -
That raccoonish Young Man of Cotton Green.

There was a Gentleman of Sewri
Who was much renowned for his bravery.
For each act of valour
He would want a favour -
That badgering Gentleman of Sewri.

There was a Man of Wadala Road
Whose chin was always shaved a la mode.
He'd butt conversations
And cause perturbations -
That goaty Man of Wadala Road.

There was a Man of GTB Nagar Who loved to eat pearls soaked in vinegar. He'd peck them one by one And proclaimed it was fun - That hennish Man of GTB Nagar.

There was a Lady of King's Circle Who mostly wore robes of deep purple. But she would change colour To match those in power - That chameleonic Lady of King's Circle.

There was a Man of Chunabhatti Who lived in a jade zopadpatti. He'd wrap round his toothpaste And not let it go waste - That pythonic Man of Chunabhatti.

There was a Gentleman of Mahim Who would wake up when it was still dim. He would play music loud And potter about proud - That cocky Gentleman of Mahim.

There was a Young lady of Kurla Who used obscure words like mandorla. She'd prattle on and on Till the sun was long gone - That parroty Young Lady of Kurla.

There was an Old Woman of Bandra Who was a right royal cassandra. She prophesied gloom And everyone's doom - That catty Old Woman of Bandra.

There was a Man of Tilak Nagar Who was employed as a truck-tugger. On his hump he'd carry A thirty-tonne lorry - That camelid Man of Tilak Nagar.

There was an Old Woman of Khar Road Who undertook to lay a tar road. She paved it with borax And sealed it with beeswax - That apian Old Woman of Khar Road.

There was an Old Woman of Chembur Who had migrated there from Singur. With her aggressive tongue Many Marxists were stung - That shrewish Old Woman of Chembur.

There was an Old Man of Santacruz Who subsisted chiefly on cheap booze. He would square his shoulders To carry great boulders - That asinine Old Man of Santacruz.

There was an Old Man of Govandi Who ate fly eyes cooked in a handi. He preferred them runny And had them with honey - That ravenous Old Man of Govandi.

There was a man of Ville Parle* Who insisted on polite parley. He'd stubbornly refuse To tolerate abuse - That mulish man of Ville Parle.

There was a Young Lady of Mankhurd Who subsisted on yoghurt and curd. She preferred it mixed up With blood that she'd sucked up - That anopheline Young Lady of Mankhurd.

There was an Old Man of Andheri Of whom all the butchers were wary. He stole their live chickens And left them some lemons That foxy Old Man of Andheri.

There was a Gentleman of Vashi
Whose tastes were ludicrously flashy.
He had teeth like tusks
And fed upon rusks -
That boarish Gentleman of Vashi.

There was an Old Man of Sanpada
Who set out to learn the lambada.
But he was not nimble
And did rather rumble -
That bubaline man of Sanpada.

There was a Man of Juinagar Who had the brains of an onager. He thought that traffic rules Were meant only for fools - That jaywalking Man of Juinagar.

There was a Young Lady of Turbhe Who came there form faraway Skopje. Her idea of humour Was to spread a rumour - That viperous Yong Lady of Turbhe.

There was an Old Woman of Nerul Who was as slender as a slide-rule. She would pass through a hose Without hurting her nose - That serpentine Old Woman of Nerul.

There was a Man of Koparkhairane Who imported malashaganay. He led constant attacks Upon medical quacks That ducky Man of Kopakhairane.

There was a Man of Seawoods Darave Who greeted everyone with ave. He dressed all his children In togas of linen That kiddish Man of Seawoods Darave.

There was a Young Man of Ghansoli Who rarely did anything lowly. He wore a loud jacket That cost quite a packet That doggish Young Man of Ghansoli.

There was a Man of Bamandongri Who was rarely angry or hungry He lived on dry hay And Multani clay That annelid Man of Bamandongri.

There was a Young Man of Rabale Who stubbed his toe dancing a ballet. He let out a great roar Which sounded immature That cubbish Old Man of Khandeshwar.

There was a Young Man of Belapur Who for his boss' imprimatur Would feed him with honey And bribe him with money – That fawning Young Man of Belapur.

There was a Young Man of Kharkopar Who was in his love a no-hoper To please his beloved He cut off his own head That mantid Young Man of Kharkopar.

There was a Young Lady of Kharghar Who never suffered from tooth tartar. Her eyes inspired poets To write scores of couplets That doe-eyed Young Lady of Kharghar.

There was a Young Man of Airoli Who largely lived on ravioli. But he walked on all fours And lurked behind closed doors That creepy-crawly Young Man of Airoli.

There was a Man of Mansarovar Who owned a bejewelled samovar. That his neighbours had none Gave him a lot of fun That crowing Man of Mansarovar.

There was a Gentleman of Thane Who mostly dined upon Chardonnay, He'd a heart made of gold, He was kind to the old - That humane Gentleman of Thane.

There was an Old Man of Khandeshwar
Who was exiled there from Bhuleshwar.
He taunted his neighbours
And pooh-poohed their labours
That cattish Old Man of Khandeshwar.

There was an Old Woman of Panvel
Who appeared vulnerable and frail.
But when she sensed fear
She'd run off like deer
That cervine Old Woman of Panvel.

*Ville Parle is how Western Railway spells it.