And leaves the streets to Bill Sykes and to me.
Now far and wide there’s not a Blue in sight,
Like harmless loungers, safe our watch we hold,
Save that we grasp the life-preserver tight,
And the garotte arrange in artful fold.
Meanwhile from yonder station-house the snore
Of sleeping Crushers makes it very plain,
That Blues who snooze when they the streets should scour,
Will ne’er molest our solitary reign.
Within those well-warmed rooms Inspectors paid