"A Battersea bounder," too! Rats!!! Do you think I'm a pal o' Jack Burns?

Mix me with "the masses"? Great Scott! It's a thought as the soul o' me spurns.

You jumped-up, cheap, Coventry bagman, silk-sampling, no doubt, is your biz,

But sampling "the classes and masses" is not, blow me tight if it is!

Yah! Pack up your ribbings, and aitches, and don't aggranoy me no more,

But jest mind your own interference! A bounder you are—and a bore.

You've borrered my patriot sperrit, you've borrered a slang phrase or so,

But there's one thing, my boy, you carn't borrer, and that is my rattle and go!

There, Charlie, I've given 'im beans, this 'ere Harry, as carn't abear Cads,

And wants to put up a aitch-fence like to keep out us row-de-dow lads.

Let 'im call 'isself 'Enery at once, that's the badge for sech bounders to carry,

And then 'e may bet 'is larst bob as 'e won't be confounded with 'Arry.