Talks of our "hard hide," does, "INFELIX," I'd like to lay hands upon hisn!
All becos Upper 'Ampstead, it seems, is a sort of a dark ice-bound prison.
No 'busses, no trams, and no cabs, no grub, and no gas, and no water!
Ha! ha! Pooty picter it is, and thanks be I don't dwell in that quarter!
But wot's it to do with poor Me? If he wants it himproved he had best try
Them proud County-Councillor coves, not come wallopping into the Westry.
Wot use, too, to talk of Wienna? Don't know where that is, and don't wanter,
But, 'cording to "SNOWBOUND," their style of snow-clearing beats ourn in a canter.
Ratepayers' Defencers may rave, and the scribblers may scold or talk funny,
But clean streets in Winter mean this,—you must plank down a dollup more money!