English poem
Ii
by John Stephen Farmer (1854–1916)
From morn till night we'll booze a ken, And we'll pass the bingo round; At dusk we'll make our lucky, and then, 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; For I'm snigger'd if we will be trepanned By the blarneying jaw of a knowing hand, And thus be lagged to a foreign land, Or die by an artichoke.