And twig 'em go green as we chaff 'em; I tell yer it isn't half bad.
Then, s'rimps! Wy, I pooty near lives on 'em; got arf a pocketful here,
There's a flavour of bird's-eye about 'em; but that's soon took off by the beer.
The "bitter" round here is jest lummy, and as for their soda-and-b.,
It's ekal to "fizz" and no error, and suits this small child to a t.
The weeds as I've blown is a caution;—I'm nuts on a tuppenny smoke.
Don't care for the baths, but there's sailing, and rollicking rides on a moke.
I've sung comic songs on the cliffs after dark, and wot's fun if that ain't?
And I've chiselled my name in a church on the cheek of a rummy stone saint.
So, Charlie, I think you will see, I've been doing the tourist to rights.