And a pain in the 'ed when you 'ear it. I laugh till I shake in my socks
When I turn it on sharp on old gurls and they jump like a Jack-in-the-box.
I give 'em Ta-ra-ra, I tell yer, and Boom-de-ray likewise, dear boy.
'Ev'n bless 'im as started that song, with that chorus,—a boon and a joy!
Wy, the way as the werry words worrit respectables jest makes me bust;
When you chuck it 'em as you dash by, it riles wus than the row and the dust!
We lap up a rare lot of lotion, old man, in our spins out of town;
Pace, dust and chyike make yer chalky, and don't we just ladle it down?
And when I'm full up, and astride, with my shoulder well over the wheel,
And my knickerbocks pelting like pistons, I tell yer I make the thing squeal.