With no trams running handy, and corns! As I sez to my friend Mrs. BROWN,
Bless the 'Buses, I sez, they're a boon to poor souls, as must travel at times,
And we can't all keep kerridges neither, wus luck! Penny Fares ain't no crimes,
If you arsk me, as did ought to know. Which my feelings I own it does rouge
To hear big-wigs a-sneering at 'Buses. There may be a bit of a scrouge,
And the smell of damp straw mixed with pep'mint ain't nice to a dalicot nose,
Likeways neat "Oh be Joyful's" a thing as with orange and snuff hardly goes.
But we ain't all rekerky nor rich, we can't all afford sixpence a mile,
And when we are old, late, and tired, or it's wet, we can't think about style.
The 'Bus is the poor body's kerridge, young feller—and as for your talk