And the gals they spin about as well, and don't they move their feet,
When they 'ear that pianner-orgin man, as plays about our street.
There's a feller plays a cornet too, and wears a ulster coat,
My eye, 'e does puff out 'is cheeks a-tryin' for 'is note.
It seems to go right through yer, and, oh, it's right-down rare
When 'e gives us "Annie Laurie" or "Sweet Spirit, 'ear my Prayer";
'E's so stout that when 'e's blowin' 'ard you think 'e must go pop;
And 'is nose is like the lamp (what's red) outside a chemist's shop.
And another blows the penny-pipe,—I allus thinks it's thin,
And I much prefers the cornet when 'e ain't bin drinkin' gin.