WAGGLES says they're not like the Grand Junction, as creeps sewer-like through our parks;
Well, WAGGLES may sniff; I'm not sure, up to now, mate, as Venice means larks.
'Arf a mind to try Parry once more. It's a place as you soon git to love;
There is always some fun afoot there, as will keep a chap fair on the shove.
Pooty scenery's all very proper, but glaciers and snow-peaks do pall,
And as to yer bloomin' Black Forests, the Bor der Boolong beats 'em all.
After all, there is something quite 'ome-like in Parry—so leastways I think;
It's a place where you don't seem afraid to larf 'arty, or tip gals the wink;
Sort o' san janey feeling about it, my pippin'—you know wot I mean.
You don't feel too fur from old Fleet Street, steaks, "bitter," and "God Save the Queen!"