From morn till night we'll booze a ken, [10]
And we'll pass the bingo round; [11]
At dusk we'll make our lucky, and then, [12]
With our nags so fresh, and our merry men,
We'll scour the lonely ground.
And if the swell resist our "Stand!"
We'll squib without a joke; [13]
For I'm snigger'd if we will be trepanned [14]
By the blarneying jaw of a knowing hand,
And thus be lagged to a foreign land,
Or die by an artichoke. [15]