But these Sanitary codgers give me beans, and no mistake.
I am fly to most all capers, but don't tumble to their fake.
Seems to me all sentimental jor and cold chuck-out, it do.
They may call their big Committees, and may chat till all is blue,
But to shift me till they gives me somethink sweeter is all rot;
Better leave my garret winder, and the flower in the pot.
That gerenum there looks proper; which I bought it of a bloke
What does the "All a-blowin'!" with a barrer and a moke;
And though tuppences is tuppences, I ain't so jolly sure
As to spend two-d. upon it were to play the blooming cure