And bizness ties, a hempty purse, bad 'ealth, and ne'er a crust;
Swells may swear these ain't Compulsion, but we know as they means must.
Ah! wot precious rum things words is, 'ow they seems to fog the wise!
If they'd only come and look at things, that is with their hown heyes,
And not filantropic barnacles or goldian giglamps—lor!
Wot a lob of grabs and gushers might shut up their blessed jor!
The nobs who're down on workmen, 'cos on "knobsticks" they will frown,
Has a 'arty love for Libbaty—when keepin' wages down.
Contrack's a sacred 'oly thing, freedom carnt 'ave that broke,
But Free Contrack wot's forced on yer—wy, o'course, that sounds a joke.