you goney, what’s the row
You’re making all the day, Sir?
Let Ki Hi pass, you silly fool—
He’ll not be in your way, Sir.
Leave it to me to trot him out,
And show you all his tricks, Sir;
That done—why, you can leave off
And only carry bricks, Sir.
And you, John Bull, don’t strain
And of Hold Hengland prate, Sir;
For when he comes, depend upon’t,
You’ll sit in royal state, Sir;
Drink ‘arf-and’arf, and read the
And tell us all the figgers—
How, down in Abysynny there,
You British whipped the niggers.
Monsieur Crapaud, my friend in red,
You need not feel alarmed, Sir;
The glory of the "nation grande"
Will not the least be harmed, Sir.
Of equal power and equal rights
You yet may see the day, Sir;
But till that period comes round
Let Ki Hi work away, Sir.
And you, my blue-eyed plodding coz,
Just landed from the Rhine, Sir,
You’ll soon have leisure on your
To sing away your time, Sir;
For in the shops or on the land
He’ll do your work quite clever,
While you lay off, and treat the
And lager swill forever.
Ha! Sambo—you there—hi, this
I want a word with you, Sir;
So come along, my dusky friend,
And bring your banjo too, Sir.
Quick—heel and toe—and reel it
I vow, you’re quite amazing.
Now sun yourself the rest o’ the
While Ki Hi does the slaving.
For by Jerusalem I swar,
By all the laws of nations,
He’s just the motive pow’r we
That don’t need any rations.
A little rice, a little salt,
And work up to the handle;
To leave such dicker loose around
Would be a mighty scandal.
So, Ki Hi, bring your spade and
And, while you dig or strike, Sir,
I’ll sit and whittle all the day,
And fix things as I like, Sir.
Then, first, we’ll turn the
The folks is always jangling—
And make the Southern eend the North
To stop their cussid wrangling.
Next, we might level off the farm
(When you’ve had time to rally)
And dump the Rocky Mountains down
In Mississippi’s valley.
But, first and foremost of the hull,
You bet, I’ve got the notion,
We’ll build a bridge from Cubey
Across the Atlantic Ocean.