Oh, dear, oh, dear! they're better off in Greece, sir,
Free from this Metropolitan New Police, sir.
All the people who used to show, sir,
Traps on the pavement, will find it no go, sir,
And now within their shop or dwelling,
Their odd-cum-shorts they must be selling,
If maids after eight their mats should beat, sir,
At the treadmill they'll have a treat,
And, if little boys roll hoops, or fly kites, sir,
They'll be lock'd up seven days and nights, sir.