It put the Borough all in mind
Of the devil among the tailors.
A grocer’s wife, full of spleen and spite,
Doffed her chignon so clever,
Pulled her petticoat off and went aloft,
Singing, Odger, boys, for ever.
Oh, Colonel, Colonel Beresford,
You are a rum old codger,
Neither you or Waterlow
Can ever cope with Odger;—