But BRIGGS or no BRIGGS I shaped spiffin, in mustard-and-mud-colour checks.
Ah! them Moors is the spots for cold Irish, and gives yer the primest of pecks.
Talk of sandwiges, CHARLIE, oh scissors, I'd soon ha' cleaned out Charing Cross,
With St. Pancrust and Ludgit chucked in; fairly hopened the eye of the boss;
Him as rented the shootings, yer know, big dry-salter in Thames Street, bit warm
In his langwige occasional, CHARLIE, but 'arty and reglar good form.
Swells will pal in most anywhere now on the chance of a gratis Big Shoot,
And there wos some Swells with hus, I tell yer, I felt on the good gay galoot,
But I fancy I got jest a morsel screwdnoodleous late in the day,
For I peppered a bloke in the breeks; he swore bad, but 'twas only his play.