You hungry wake, and as you peck first,
A kangaroo walks in to breakfast;
You feel aggrieved and take his love ill,
So beat his brains out with a shovel.
Upon the instant that you're a victor,
In walks his friend, a boa constrictor ;
Who, just to prove no manners has he got,
Bolts your toast, then swallows your teapot.
Listen, folks, &c.
The ground all clear that you'd to cut on,
You choose a spot and build a hut on;
Your seed you sow, and ere 'tis barr'd in,
Wild men come and spoil your garden.
With gun you put them all to flight, then,
For which they fire your hut at night, then;
And though your body gets no hurt on,
You're glad to get out with your shirt on.
Listen, folks, &c,
Deprived of house, of bed, and bedding,
Without a home to put your head in;
You 'gin to grieve that you're a rover,
And curse the ship that brought you over.
As 'neath the trees that form your vistas,
Sandflies cover you with blisters;
When to your wife, should you them show, you, You're such a guy, she would not know you.
You lose in drowsiness your horrors,
And for awhile forget your sorrows;
You dream you've wed a higher class in,
And that your honeymoon is passing.
'Bout half asleep and very drowsy,
You fancy you're embraced by spousy;
In love you wake, a perfect Hannibal,
And find you're hugg'd tight by a cannibal.
Listen, folks, &c.
Now having passed a year or two there,
With still the same dull dreary view there,
You find 'tis but a galling fetter,
Without a chance of getting better.
You then take stock, to judge quite willing,
And find you're minus every shilling;
When quite enraged at being worsted,
You curse the place and leave disgusted.
Listen, folks, &c.
I'm a gent, I'm a gent, I'm a gent ready made,
I roam through the Quadrant and Lowther Arcade ;
I'm a registered swell-from the head to the toe,
I wear a moustache, and a light paletot.
I've a cane in my hand, and a glass in my eye,
And I wink at the gals-demme! as they go by,
Then lor! how they giggle to win my regards,
And I hear them all say, "He's a gent in the
I'm a gent, I'm a gent, in the Regent Street style,
Examine my wes'ket, and look at my tile;
There are gents-I dare say-who are handsomer far,
But none who can puff with such ease a cigar.
I can sing a flash song, I can blow on the horn,
I like sherry cobblers, I'm fond of Cremorne ;
I love the cellarius, the polka I dance,
And I'm rather attached to-a party-from France.
I'm a gent, &c.
This gal I adore-is a creature divine,
Though dev'lishly partial to lobsters and wine; She was struck with my figure-and caught-with a hook,
For I took her to visit, "my uncle, the Duke."
I'm a gent, I'm a gent, &c.
ONE Willy Wright, who kept a store,
But nothing kept therein,
Save earthen jugs, and some few kegs
Of whisky, ale, and gin-
Grew sick, and often would exclaim,
'Oh, how my poor heart burns!" And every week the poor man lived, He had his weakly turns.
Now, when they saw him thus decline,
Some said that death must come ;
Some wonder'd what the ail could be,
Some said his ail was rum!
At last the very cause was known
Of every pang he felt;
Remote, at one end of the town,
Miss Martha Townsend dwelt.
A portly, love-resisting dame,
Contemptuous, proud, and haughty;
But yet, though "fat, and forty," too,
She was not two-and-forty.
And Willy long had sought and sigh'd,
To gain this pretty maid;
"I have no trade," said he, “
My love can't be betray'd."
To Martha, then, he trembling went,
And said, "My dear, 'tis true,
Though I have nothing in my store,
I've love in store for you.
And if thou wilt, thou may'st become"
But here his tongue was tied;
And then she bridled up, and said,
She ne'er would be his bride.
Then, turning Willie out of doors,
She said, "Go, go along;
I hate the man who's always Wright,
Yet always doing wrong.'
"I leave you then," said he; "farewell!
Of peace I'm now bereft;
If I am always wright and wrong,
You must be right-and left."
BUILDING of schools,
To teach coves the rules
Of morality, seems very queer-
While you try all the time
To incite 'em to crime,
By depriving poor men of their beer.
From the tax you put upon beer;
By this new excise duty on beer,
What ills will arise
We don't dare to surmise,
If you rob a poor man of his beer.
Learning to spell
And the fountain of knowledge flows clear;
But how do you think
That a fellow's to drink
Of that fountain, when longing for beer?
For scholarship's nothing to beer,
And the best of all teachers is beer;
Men from A B C turn,
And their letters they learn
From the X's on barrels of beer.
The patriot's zeal
Is agreeable to feel,
And men, who their country hold dear,
Will submit to her laws,
And will fight in her cause,
But they love her for sake of her beer;
And they'll fight in defence of their beer;
And the foe they'll demolish for beer.
But they wont care the least
For affairs in the East,
If the (y)east makes a rise in their beer.
Our beer to forego,
Would certainly throw
The machine of the State out of gear;
For all engines are spoiled,
Unless constantly oiled,
And we lubricate ours with beer;
And all would go wrong without beer;
Society would not cohere;
Revolutions ensue,
As they constantly do,
In nations that haven't got beer.
Then, oh! if you'd see
Our people still free
And happy, this warning pray hear;
You may tax what you please—
Our sugars, our teas-
But beware how you tamper with beer;
For the national safeguard is beer.
To the butts rusheth each Volunteer!
So look out, we'd advise,
For squalls, if you tries
To rob a poor man of his beer.
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