For I'm the Queen of the Poll, mother! I'm the Queen of the Poll!
There'll be many a black, black eye, mother (I hope one won't be mine),
But ten thousand voting virgins will be flocking to my sign,
Supported by my Coleridge—Mill, 'neath Becker's steadfast soul,
Shall I be the Queen of the Poll, mother! I, be the Queen of the Poll!
The Benches soon shall welcome me, the Lobby be my haunt,
That spinster Speaker by her winks and frowns shall ne'er me daunt.
My rights are good as any, and my name is on the roll,
And I'm the Queen of the Poll, mother! I'm the Queen of the Poll.
I have been wild and wayward, but those days are past and gone,