I pound the bar and sing, 'Hooray,
Here's Quaker come to bless and kiss us,
Come, have a gin and bitters, missus.
Or may be Quaker girls so prim
Would rather start a bloody hymn.
Now, Dick, oblige. A hymn, you swine,
Pipe up the "Officer of the Line,"
A song to make one's belly ache,
Or "Nell and Roger at the Wake,"
Or that sweet song, the talk in town,