C—rr—Let us curse the day and hour,
Johnny Sc—tt, Johnny Sc—tt!
That depriv'd us of our power,
Johnny Sc—tt!
Fam'd Newcastle's rattling boys
Will kick up a thund'ring noise,
And for fun will black our eyes,
Johnny Sc—tt!
TOMMY C—RR IN LIMBO.
Tune—"Scots wha ha'e," &c.
Ye that like a lark or spree!
Ye that's iv the Kitty free!
Now's the time for mirth and glee,
For Tommy is up stairs.
Ye that never yet went wrang—
Ne'er did warse than sing a sang,
Ye that offen had to gan
And visit Mr. Mayor's.
Now then let your joys abound—
Now begin your neetly rounds,
And myek the streets wi' mirth resound.
Since Tommy is up stairs.
Whe before Judge Bayley stood,
For sending Watson into quod?—
Whe wad grace a frame of Wood?
But honest Tommy C—r.
And when fou, wi' cronies dear,
Ye'd sally out to Filly Fair,
Whe was sure to meet ye there?
But honest Tommy C—r:
Wiv his beaver round and low,
Little switch, and thick surtou',
Like Satan prowling to and fro,
Seeking to devour.
Whe was sure your sport to marr,
And send ye off to Cabbage Square?
Whe was Judge and Jury there?
But honest Tommy C—r.
Whe wad never tyek yor word?
And if to walk ye'd not afford,
Whe wad strap ye on a board?
But honest Tommy C—r.