1.
The blacks who lounge about the streets,
Or with their pennies dash on,
Are always sipping [tinacious?] sweets
From off the lips of fashion.
They rise at twelve, then pick their teeth,
Or puff a mild cigar;
They yawn a bit and talk a bit,
And swear -- et cetera!

2.
Then when they've look'd into the glass,
Brush'd up and _titivated_;
Comb'd moustache and imperial,
And whiskers cultivated,
They sully forth - swell for an hour,
Leer Miss [?] salute Mamma,
Bow to the Belle or Widow gay,
Strut -- stare -- et cetera!

3.
They cut the Tailor and his bill,
The fellow's used to _cutting_
What right has he to trouble them,
By holding on the button.
They kick the boot-black down the stairs,
_Unpolish'd_ things they are;
'Tis vulgar, quite, to pay one's debts
Old scores -- et cetera.

4.
At night when charged with wit and wine,
Thro' street and ally reeling;
Then while they're grouping in the dark,
They know they're _men of feeling_.
A row or two is all the go,
A black eye or a scar;
They love a bout -- a yell -- a blow,
A spree -- et cetera.

5.
Then to the lock up off they go,
All swearing -- shouting, yelling;
The _Charlies_ fare the worst we know,
Black eyes and noses swelling.
They tip the silver -- soon the charm
Heals up each bruise and scar;
Then in their nightly homes they go
To sleep -- et cetera!

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