And I've 'ad lots o' chances, I tell yer; fair 'ot 'uns, old man, and no kid.
But I'll 'ave a free run for my money, as long as I'm good for a quid.
Yah! Marriage is orful queer paper; it's fatal, dear boy, as you say,
It damps down the rortiest dasher, it spiles yer for every prime lay.
No; gals is good fun, wives wet blankets, that's wot my egsperience tells,
And the swells foller me on that track, though you say as I follers the swells.
Wot odds arter all? We're jest dittos! I'm not bad at bottom, sez you.
Well, thankye for nothink, my joker. As long as I've bullion to blue,
I mean to romp round a rare buster, lark, lap, take the pick of the fun,
And, bottom or top, good or bad, keep my heye on one mark—Number One!