But if you turn us inside out,
We're stouter men within.
For he is all a puff, and smoke,
A sound that dies away;
But we are they who crack a joke,
That lasts for many a day.
He has his crotchets; we do harp,
On clients, this, and that,
He has his sharps, and we are sharp,
His flats, and they are flat;