You must wake and call me early, call me early, Vicky clear,
For to-morrow will be the silliest day we've seen for many a year;
For I am a rhyming prig, Vicky, that shoddy and sham reveres,
So I'm to be one of the Peers, Vicky, I'm to be one of the Peers.
There's many a crazy lyre, they say, but none so effete as mine;
It cannot ring out an ode to Brown, that gallant gilly of thine,
For there's none so inane as poor old Alf in his sad, declining years;
And I'm to be one of the Peers, Vicky, I'm to be one of the Peers.
I sleep so sound all night, Vicky, that I shall never wake;
So come in the early morn, Vicky, and give me a slap and a shake;