But, bless yer, my bloater, it isn't all chin-music, votes, and 'Ear! 'ear!' [3]
Or they wouldn't catch me on the ready, or nail me for ninepence. No fear!
Percessions I've got a bit tired of, hoof-padding and scrouging's dry rot, [4]
But Political Picnics mean sugar to them as is fly to wot's wot.