Whatever my mood is—I love Piccadilly.
Thus carolled Fred Locker, just sixty years back,
In a year (’57) when the outlook was black,
And even to-day the war-weariest Willie
Recovers his spirits in dear Piccadilly.
We haven’t the belles with their Gainsborough hats,
Or the Regency bucks with their wondrous cravats,
But now that the weather no longer is chilly
There’s much to enchant us in New Piccadilly.
As I sit in my club and partake of my “ration,”