Those silent boots! Those silent boots!
When out upon our gay galoots,
’Twill give us coves the bloomin’ jumps,
If we carn’t hear the copper’s clumps!
’Ave bobby’s bluchers passed away?
That there will bust the burglar’s lay!
Wot, silent “slops”—like evening swells?
It’s wus than them electric bells!
No, no! I ’opes, till I am gone,
The bobby’s boots will still clump on.