It's a fight for front place, and he's lucky who gets the first bite at the peach.
High priori hideas about Justice, as Huxley declares, is all rot.
Fancy tigers dividing a carcase, and portioning each his fair lot!
"Aren't men better than tigers?" cries Buggins. Well, yus, there's religion and law;
Pooty fakes! But when sharing's the word they ain't in it with sheer tooth and claw.
Orful nice to see Science confirming wot I always held. Blow me tight,
If I don't rayther cotton to Huxley; he's racy, old pal, and he's right.
The skim-milk of life's for the many, the lardy few lap up the cream,
And all talk about trimming the balance is rubbish, a mere Roosso's Dream!
Philanterpy's all very nice as a plaything for soft-'arted toffs,