With just enough left to make a mop;
Oh wont it be a funny go,
To see the swells in Rotton Row,
With their shirt tails flying in the wind, as they go,
Thro’ the strike of the Journeymen Tailors.
An old lady the other day did run,
Into the shop of Moses and Son,
Saying, please Mr Mo, are you a Dung;
Don’t you know there’s a strike with the tailors!
Then round the corner she did pop,