In our New Poor Law Bastiles may go lodge, and go dine.
That’s the plan of your Whigs—your kind-hearted, true Whigs!
Then, shout, &c.
Off the fine Memel timber, we’d take—if we could—
All tax, ’cause ’tis used in the palace and hall;
On the cottager’s, tradesman’s coarse Canada wood,
We will clap such a tax as shall pay us for all.
That’s the “dodge” for your Whigs—your poor-loving, true Whigs!
Then, shout, &c.
To free our dear brothers, the niggers, you know