There’s nothing makes a man so low as cowardice and sin!
Chorus—
He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘What is it makes a Gentleman? His dress is not the sign,—
Though on each finger of each hand a jewelled ring may shine;
His necktie may be elegant—his boots be superfine—
Howe’er you dress a monkey, Sir, he is no friend of mine.
Chorus—
He cannot be a Gentleman, whate’er his station be!
‘The real Gentleman is he whose aims are pure and high;