They'd got resigned to Brompton, thought its boilers meant to stay!
Yet they're carting those boilers away, mother, they're carting those boilers away.
South Kensington no more, mother, need fear to be despised,
The three most ugly things on earth, man ever yet devised,
No longer shall scare fashion off, and keep the world at bay;
Yes, the boilers are carted away, mother, the boilers are carted away.
So please call me very early—Oh! I mean it—mother dear,
For I wouldn't miss the sight for worlds, it's such a bright idea;
They're nearly done—a pole or two will go and then—hooray!
The boilers are carted away, mother, are carted for ever away!