I
Rum old Mog was a leary flash mot,
and she was round and fat, [1]
With twangs in her shoes, a wheelbarrow too,
and an oilskin round her hat;
A blue bird's-eye o'er dairies fine—
as she mizzled through Temple Bar, [2]
Of vich side of the way, I cannot say,
but she boned it from a Tar— [3]
Singing, tol-lol-lol-lido.