Lather and shave ’em, frizzle ’em bum.
One horrid bad custom he thought he would stop,
That no one for credit should come to his shop;
So he got him a razor full of notches and rust,
To shave the poor devils who come there for trust.
With his lather and shave, &c.
One day a poor Irishman passed by that way,
Whose beard had been growing for many a day;
He looked at the barber, and he put down his hod,
“Will you trust me a shave for the pure love o’ God?”