And its 'Olloway for you
For a month or may be two,
Where the Widow keeps a mansion and purvides you with your prog.
It was 'ero 'ere and 'ero there, I might 'ave been a King,
For to 'ear 'em 'ip 'urraying as I stepped into the ring,
When I faced the Tipton Slasher, me and 'im in four-ounce gloves,
Just to make us look as 'armless as a pair o' bloomin' doves.
Then I bruises 'im and batters,
And 'e cuts my lips to tatters,
And I gives 'im 'alf a dozen where 'is peepers ought to be.