I’ll sing you a fine new song, ’twas made by a mad young pate,
Of a fine young English gentleman, who lives on no estate,
But who keeps up appearances at a very dashing rate,
And also his poor old landlady by coming home so late,
Like a fine young English gentleman, one of the present time.
He lives in a smart new lodging up a rather narrow stair,
And the furniture is fine enough, though a little the worse for wear,
For, two or three gay young friends of his are fond of smoking there,
And though they spoil the new carpet, this brave young man don’t care;
For, he’s a fine young English gentleman, one of the present time.