And at making a jint I'm daisy. Our trade is a topper, it is,
But one arf of the pottrers called plumbers ain't nothink like up to their biz—
Mere poor paltryfoggers, most on 'em, as boggle, and bungle, and botch.
'Tain't bizness the beggars are arter, but more speshul Irish—or Scotch!
A copper-bit jint is their utmost, but wot they like most is a splodge
Of canvas and white-lead or putty; their work is all fakement and dodge,
As won't last a fortnit, not watertight. As to a blow-jint, well did,
They jest couldn't take it on nohow—no, not if you tipped 'em a quid.
But I'm a certif'cated plumber, a master of shave-hook and solder,
Of turn-pin, and mallet, and fire-devil. Plumber who's smarter and bolder