Turk, Turk, Turk!
My labour never flags,
Yet, what are its wages? A Nottingham feast,
And a suit of political rags,
A broken party, a shattered name,
A smile from the "Daily News,"
A bloody war, and a future so blank
That my mind the thought eschews.
Turk, Turk, Turk!
On the chill October night,