Climb to Holborn’s lofty brow;
Near the sign-post of ‘The Nigger,’
Near the baked-potato shed,
You may see a ghastly figure,
With three hats upon his head.
When the evening shades are dusky,
Then the phantom form draws near,
And, with accents low and husky,
Pours effluvia in your ear;
Craving an immediate barter