Fair mashed on yours truly, Miss Emmy; but that's only jest by the way,
'Arry ain't one to brag of bong jour tunes; but wot I wos wanting to say
Is about this here "spiling the River" which snarlers set down to our sort.
Bosh! Charlie, extreme Tommy rot! It's these sniffers as want to spile sport.
Want things all to theirselves, these old jossers, and all on the strictest Q. T.
Their idea of the Thames being "spiled" by the smallest suggestion of spree,
Wy, it's right down rediklus, old pal, gives a feller the dithreums it do.
I mean going for them a rare bat, and I'm game to wire in till all's blue.
Who are they, these stuckuppy snipsters, as jaw about quiet and peace,
Who would silence the gay "constant-screamer" and line the Thames banks with perlice;