If ye'll but kindly bide yer time, ye scurry-funging sinners!
But not a mite! It's bark, yelp, bite; it's flurry, scurry, worry.
Carn't use my knife upon my life! Where's yer infarnal 'urry?
At the big lump ye'd like to jump, each one o' ye, full gobble.
If ye don't stop I'll shut up shop, and leave ye in a 'obble!
No time, I'm sure to slice and skewer. Ye're greedy, fierce, and narrer.
Each wants fust glut, and the best cut. Who'd keep a cat's-meat barrer?
Bah! cat or dog, they're all agog, a-squabble and a-quiver
For the best paunch, fust cut of haunch, or slice of shin or liver.
Ye greedy brutes, beware my boots! Your yelping and your yow-ing,