The poet and the barrister, they'll all be there,
Snug in the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze,
With a Hi-ti-tiddle-i! ... Honk, honk!
Dig, dig, dig, it will have to be big,
With a Hey and a Ho and a Hee-haw-hee!
One great cavity, and then one more
For the bones of the Secret'ry of State for War;
The editor, the clerk and, of course, old Thomas,
We wring their necks and we fling them from us
Into the grave of the Boorzh-waw-ze,