“He’d rather fight than eat,” they said,
“He’s got the punch, he’ll knock ’em dead.”
There’s only one I hadn’t met,
That guy they called “The Yorkshire Pet.”
He’d cleaned ’em all around in France,
No one in England stood a chance;
And I was champ in U. S. A.,
And knocked ’em cuckoo every day.
Now all McGee and me could think,
Was how we’d like to cross the drink,