When hungry, cold, cast on a rock, and could not get a meal,
How oft I’ve beat the devil down for tempting me to steal.
In the days when I was hard up, for furniture and drugs,
Many a summer’s night I’ve held communion with the bugs;
I never faced them with a pike, or smashed them on the wall,
I said the world was wide enough, there’s room enough for all.
In the days when I was hard up, I used to lock my door,
For fear the landlady should say you can’t lodge here no more.
From my own back drawing-room, about ten feet by six,
In the work-house wall just opposite, I’ve counted all the bricks.