I sing of what we were—of what we now are.
Wildly let me rave,
To imprecate the knave
Whose curious information turned our porter sour,
Bottled our stout, doing it (ruthless cub!)
Brown,
Down
Knocking our snug, unlicensed club;
Changing, despite our belle esprit, at one fell swop,
Into a legal coffee-crib, our contraband cook-shop!