We've chucked a City swell to the pig
In his mixen at Cloutsham Corner;
We've hung our artist by his wig,
Like Absalom, in Horner,
Till hard pressed by all our best
From Boscombe Head full flop, boys,
Goes brow, bay, bay and tray,
Tray and three on top, boys!
A boat! a boat! the Weirmen float,
And after him go racing;