Curse, and squabble, and row,
Row, and squabble, and curse,
Till my eyes are blackened, my ‘claret’ drawn,
As well as my private purse.
“Oh! but to breathe the breath
Of the Royal Hotel in town;
A prime manilla in my mouth,
Whilst I knock my earnings down!
Oh! but for one short month,
To spree as I used to spree,