He can shake the damsels’ crinoline, And cure a cobbler’s sore throat; He bangs the country east and west, And licks Johanna Southgate. There never was since Sampson lived, A man on earth to match him; Spurgeon is an out and outer, lads, To act the game of cadging.
If Spurgeon went into St. Paul’s, I’m sure he’d not dissemble, His voice would make the dome to rise, And St. Paul’s church for to tremble. And what do you think he does it for? Why, for money, I supposes; Some say Spurgeon is a greater man, Than Soloman or Moses.
Oh, can’t he spin a tidy yarn, And trick the ladies handsome, He makes you think he’s twice as strong As that old covey Sampson. They’ll say by and bye that he can fly, To kingdom come, and stop there, Dance a hornpipe in the clouds, And jump to Ballinahoker.
Punch says he is a wonderful man, And causes many a row, sirs, Oh, can’t he make the joey’s fly From the pockets of your trousers, And when not vexed, he gives the text, He alarms the congregation; A better beggar can’t be found, All over this great nation.
Well, every man unto his trade, The cobbler, snip, and surgeon, Many a good day’s work he’s made, So much for Parson Spurgeon. He can make the money fly like rain, No man on earth can stop it, His wonderful voice will make it jump Like winking out of your pocket.
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.
All you that dwell in Lambeth, listen for awhile, To a song to enlighten and amuse you, In the workhouse only mark, there’s queer doings after dark. And believe me it is true I now tell you; It’s of the ups and downs, of a pauper’s life, Which are none of the best you may be sure, sir. Strange scenes they do enact, believe me, it’s a fact, In Lambeth workhouse among the casual poor, sir.
Oh my, what a rummy go, oh crikey, what a strange revelation, Has occurred in Lambeth workhouse a little while ago, And through the parish is causing great sensation.
Now a gent, with good intent, to Lambeth workhouse went, The mystery of the place to explore, sir, Says he, without a doubt, I shall then find out, What treatment they give the houseless poor, sir. So he went through his degrees, like a blessed brick, Thro’ scenes he had never seen before, sir, So good luck to him, I say, for ever and a day, For bestowing a thought upon the poor, sir.