Now I don't like to look like a juggins, it's wot I carn't stand, s'elp my bob;
But you know I ain't heasy choked off, dear old pal, when I'm fair on the job.
So I spotted a quiet back naybrood, triangle of grass and tall trees,
Good roads, and no bobbies, or carts. Oh, I tell yer 'twas "go as yer please."
They call it a "Park," and it's pooty, and quiet as Solsberry Plain,
Or a hold City church on a Sunday, old man, when it's welting with rain;
Old maids, retired gents, sickly jossers, and studyus old stodges live there,
And they didn't like me and my squeaker a mossel; but wot did I care.
When they wentured a mild remonstration, I chucked 'em a smart bit o' lip,
With a big D or two—for the ladies—and wosn't they soon on the skip!