May! The month o' flowers. Spooney sell!
"Rum 'ot with," is wot _I_ likes to smell.
Beats yer roses holler. A chice weed
Licks all flowers that ever run to seed.
Nobby button'oler very well
When one wants to do the 'eavy swell;
Otherwise don't care not one brass farden,
For the best ever blowed in Covent Garden.
Fan, though, likes 'em, cost a pretty pile,
Rayther stiff, a tanner for a smile.
Blued ten bob last time I took 'er out,
Left my silver ticker up the spout.
Women are sech sharks! If I don't drop 'er.
Guess that I shall come a hawful cropper!