Bit sick of "_Ta-ra-ra_" and "_Knocked 'em_;" "_Carissimar_" gives
me the 'ump,
For I 'ear it some six times per morning; and then there's a footy
old pump
Blows staggery toons on a post-'orn for full arf a-hour each day,
To muster the mugs for a coach-drive. My heye and a bandbox, it's
gay!

At the "Crown" we git up little barnies, to eke out the 'Arrygate
lot,
For even the Spa's a bit samesome for six times a week when it's
'ot;
Though they do go it pooty permiskus with pickter-shows, concerts,
and such;
Yus, I must say they ladles it out fair and free, for a sixpenny
touch.

But even yer Fancy Dress Balls, and yer lectures by ANNIE BESANT,
All about Hastral Bodies and Hether, seems not always _quite_ wot
yer want
To wile away time arter dinner. So thanks to that
gent--six-foot-four!--
Who fair cuts the record as Droring-Room M.C.--of course
_hammytoor_.

Then we've conjurors, worblers, phrenologists! One 'ad a go at
_my_ chump.
'E touzled my 'air up tremenjus, and said I'd no hend of a bump
Of somethink he called "Happrybativeness." Feller meant well, I