London Town

by Felix Leigh

Don't forget at the Zoo' To take a good view Of the funny old bear, Who climbs out of his lair Up a pole—Look, he's here, With his figure so queer, And his thick clumsy paws, And his bun-seeking jaws. On the end of a stick Place a bun—"Now quick, Master Bertie"—and, snap!— What an awful red trap!— The bun's out of sight, But one more will delight Father Bruin up there, For his appetite's rare, And he never says "No" To a dozen or so.

Don't forget at the Zoo' To take a good view Of the funny old bear, Who climbs out of his lair Up a pole—Look, he's here, With his figure so queer, And his thick clumsy paws, And his bun-seeking jaws. On the end of a stick Place a bun—"Now quick, Master Bertie"—and, snap!— What an awful red trap!— The bun's out of sight, But one more will delight Father Bruin up there, For his appetite's rare, And he never says "No" To a dozen or so.

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"Milk o! Milk o!" Each morn she cries, And little sleepers Ope their eyes, And wonder if pure milk is sold By Betty here, for they've been told That London milk (How people talk!) Is only water Mixed with chalk!

"Milk o! Milk o!" Each morn she cries, And little sleepers Ope their eyes, And wonder if pure milk is sold By Betty here, for they've been told That London milk (How people talk!) Is only water Mixed with chalk!

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You've heard about the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, You've heard about the muffin man who lives in Drury Lane? Well, here you see that muffin man— that celebrated muffin man, And if you try his muffins, you'll be sure to buy again.

You've heard about the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man, You've heard about the muffin man who lives in Drury Lane? Well, here you see that muffin man— that celebrated muffin man, And if you try his muffins, you'll be sure to buy again.

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If you wanted a boy to polish your shoes, Which of these two, do you think, you would choose? They were once "Street Arabs," hungry, ill-clad, And in very sore danger of going to the bad; But now!—one might think that their fortunes were made, They're so proud to belong to the Shoeblack Brigade.

If you wanted a boy to polish your shoes, Which of these two, do you think, you would choose? They were once "Street Arabs," hungry, ill-clad, And in very sore danger of going to the bad; But now!—one might think that their fortunes were made, They're so proud to belong to the Shoeblack Brigade.

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If you should pass through Newgate Street, Bareheaded boys with coats of blue, Among the crowd you're sure to meet— And all with yellow stockings too. Their coats are long as well as blue, And when at football they do play, They find them rather heavy too, So tuck them up out of the way. In Christchurch passage will be found The entrance to the School; and though It looks so quiet, all around We hear the crowd go to and fro. Above the doorway there you see The Boy King's statue:—Would you know Who founded this great school? 'Twas he, More than three hundred years ago.

If you should pass through Newgate Street, Bareheaded boys with coats of blue, Among the crowd you're sure to meet— And all with yellow stockings too. Their coats are long as well as blue, And when at football they do play, They find them rather heavy too, So tuck them up out of the way. In Christchurch passage will be found The entrance to the School; and though It looks so quiet, all around We hear the crowd go to and fro. Above the doorway there you see The Boy King's statue:—Would you know Who founded this great school? 'Twas he, More than three hundred years ago.