My form is chin close on the 'andle, my 'at set well back on my 'ed,
And my spine fairly 'umped to it, CHARLIE, and then carn't I paint the town red?
They call me "The Camel" for that, and my stomach-capas'ty for "wet."
Well, my motter is hease afore helegance. As for the liquor,—you bet!
There's a lot of old mivvies been writing long squeals to the Times about hus.
They call us "road-tyrants" and rowdies; but, lor! it's all fidgets and fuss.
I'd jest like to scrumplicate some on 'em; ain't got no heye for a lark.
I know 'em; they squawk if we scrummage, and squirm if we makes a remark.
If I spots pooty gurls when out cycling, I tips 'em the haffable nod;
Wy not? If a gent carn't be civil without being scowled at, it's hodd.