Is fun, but a bash on one's own—well, there, somehow it spiles the whole joke.
The Perlice wos too dashed hinderscriminate, that's where it wos, my dear boy;
Wich they couldn't take me for a Paddy or 'umbugging "Out of Employ."
Wen that cop got his hand on my collar he ought to 'ave knowed like a shot,
By the Astrykan only, that I wasn't one o' the Socherlist lot.
I 'ate 'em, dear Charlie, I 'ate 'em! They wants to stop piling the pelf,
Wen that is wot every dashed one of us wants to be piling hisself.
No, Wealth is wot must be kep up and pertected, wotever goes wrong;
And to talk of abolishing Millionnaires, Charlie, is coming it strong.
They are like prize Chrysanthemums, Charlie; for, if you want them, don'tcher see,