Air: Death of Nelson.
We sought “The Cheese,” with thirst and hunger prest,
And own we love the pudding day the best.
But no one quarrels with the chops cook’d here,
Or steaks, when wash’d down by Old English beer!
’Twas on Saint Andrew’s day,
Our way thro’ Fleet Street lay;
We sniff’d the pudding then!
We scorn’d all foreign fare,
True British food was there,