Tom, when we’ve got the notes in,
I’ll have a pair of gaiters, and
Breeches made of goat’s skin.
A pair of boots and silver spurs,
For I have got such bad legs,
I cannot hide I’ll have to ride,
The donkey now a strad-legs.
The men must go out selling fish,
And deal in shrimps and mussels,
Dress’d up in ladies’ petticoats,