 | The Five Notions |  |
45
“BOBS”
There's a little man we know,
Name o' Bobs,
Comin' out to work the show—
Our Bobs;
Sixty odd, if 'e's a day,
Trifle baldish, trifle grey—
Which don't matter anyway,
Do it, Bobs?
Name o' Bobs,
Comin' out to work the show—
Our Bobs;
Sixty odd, if 'e's a day,
Trifle baldish, trifle grey—
Which don't matter anyway,
Do it, Bobs?
'E don't gas about the game,
Modest Bobs;
But 'e plays it all the same,
F.-M. Bobs;
Walkin' ears an' sense an' eyes,
Nuffen takes 'im by surprise—
Try an' get a bloomin' rise
Outer Bobs!
Modest Bobs;
But 'e plays it all the same,
F.-M. Bobs;
Walkin' ears an' sense an' eyes,
Nuffen takes 'im by surprise—
Try an' get a bloomin' rise
Outer Bobs!
46
'E's the sort to bring you luck,
General Bobs;
An' 'e'll wire you when 'e's stuck,
Little Bobs.
When they say 'e can't fight Boer,
It just sorter makes 'im roar
Till his little chest is sore—
Don't it, Bobs?
General Bobs;
An' 'e'll wire you when 'e's stuck,
Little Bobs.
When they say 'e can't fight Boer,
It just sorter makes 'im roar
Till his little chest is sore—
Don't it, Bobs?
When the prospect don't entice,
Ring up Bobs;
You will get the best advice
Off'n Bobs;
If yer Awmy's put to rout,
An' the people's on the shout,
An' the 'Orse Guards feels in doubt,
Send for Bobs.
Ring up Bobs;
You will get the best advice
Off'n Bobs;
If yer Awmy's put to rout,
An' the people's on the shout,
An' the 'Orse Guards feels in doubt,
Send for Bobs.
We are fit for anyfink
Under Bobs,
Fightin's simply meat and drink
When we've Bobs;
All our Generals means biz,
All has blood in 'em like fizz,
But for general purposes,
Gimme Bobs!
Under Bobs,
Fightin's simply meat and drink
When we've Bobs;
47
All has blood in 'em like fizz,
But for general purposes,
Gimme Bobs!
So 'ere's to Bobs Bahadur—
Good old Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
'E's our only Transvaalader,
Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
Mr. Kipling, I am sure,
Won't be angry, if once more
We chalk plainly on the floor,
“Bless yer, Bobs!”
Good old Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
'E's our only Transvaalader,
Little Bobs, Bobs, Bobs!
Mr. Kipling, I am sure,
Won't be angry, if once more
We chalk plainly on the floor,
“Bless yer, Bobs!”
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