While The Billy BoilsSearchNow this is the art of the mining martIn good old London town,Where the broker dreams a thousand schemesFor taking the public down!To make a fine prospectus shineGood writers you engage,And then record the name of a lordOn the top of the title-page!If a first-class lord you can't afford,Then a tin-pot lord will do!But you must have a lord, some sort of a lord,Or the scheme will not go through.
For the Clapham man, and the Kilburn man,And the man on Highgate Hill,Will snap at a bait at a splendid rateIf you offer a gilded pill!And peers, you know, are made for show,And lords are all the rage,What you need, my dear, is a tin-pot peerOn the top of the title-page!If a first-class lord you can't afford,Then a tin-pot lord will do,But you must have a lord, some sort of a lord,Or the mugs won't come to you.
Oh, the Briton's free, or he thinks he's freeWhen he's only a first-class ass;And they take him down like a country clown,For his ignorance is crass;And he'll spend his cash on the rottenest trash,And his vim you can't assuage;Why, he'd rise and shine on a saw-dust mineWith a lord on the title-page.If a first-class lord, you can't affordThen a tin-pot lord will do;But you must have a lord, some sort of a lord,And the Cockneys know it, too!