When first I used the railway,
’Twas in Mugby Junction days,
With their sandwiches so salt and stale,
Their buns with the fly-blown glaze,
Their Melton pies of weight and size,
Soup too hot down to fling,
And sausage-rolls, if not men’s souls,
Their stomachs made to wring.
As you jumped from your first-class car,
The minxes at Mugby Bar