(_By a Musical Enthusiast._)
THE Monday Pops! The Monday Pops!
Whoe'er admires what some call "Ops;"
Should go, and lick his mental chops,
While feasting at the Monday Pops.
The Monday Pops! The Monday Pops!
To me their music far o'er-tops,
The jingling polkas and galops,
On cracked pianos played at hops.
Nor almond rock, nor lemon-drops,
Nor sugar-plums, nor lollipops,
With which small children cram their crops,
Are sweeter than the Monday Pops.
The Monday Pops! The Monday Pops!
Delight of fogies and of fops!
The music that all other wops,
Is given at the Monday Pops.
Their fame all rivals far o'er-tops:
You see their programmes at the shops;
And here the bard exhausted stops,
His rhymings on the Monday Pops.
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