She would take the shine out of some screamers, I tell yer, my pippin, would Loo.
Dropped 'er 'at the feet of yours, truly, and 'Arry, of course, was all there.
Her 'airpins went flyin! Thinks I, that's a jolly fine sample of 'air;
As black as my boots, and as shiny, and oh! sech a 'eavenly smell.
"Hillo! Miss," sez I, "while you're 'andy, there's no need for Mister Rimmel."
That nicked 'er, my nibs. It's the patter as does it, of course with good looks;
Gals do like a chap as can gab, as you'll find by them Libery books.
Take Weedee, my boy, or Miss Broughton; you'll see if a feller would tackle
A feminine fair up to dick, he 'as got to be dabs at the cackle.
And that's where I score, my dear Charlie. Lor bless yer, in 'arf an 'our more,