At clubs he all Flash Soup did sing.
And they all allow’d he was just the thing.
His manual exercise gone through,
Of Bridewell, Pump, and Horse Pond too,
His back had often felt the smart
Of Tyburn strings at the tail of a cart.
He stood the patter, but that’s no matter,
He gammon’d the Twelve, and work’d on the water,
Then a pardon he got from his gracious King,
And swaggering Jack was just the thing.