'Arf a mind to try Parry once more. It's a place as you soon git to love;
There is always some fun afoot there, as will keep a chap fair on the
shove.
Pooty scenery's all very proper, but glaciers and snow-peaks do pall,
And as to yer bloomin' Black Forests, the _Bor der Boolong_ beats 'em
all.
After all, there is something quite 'ome-like in Parry--so leastways I
think;
It's a place where you don't seem afraid to larf 'arty, or tip gals the
wink;
Sort o' _san janey_ feeling about it, my pippin'--you know wot I mean.
You don't feel _too_ fur from old Fleet Street, steaks, "bitter," and
"_God Save the Queen!_"
When your Britisher travels, he travels, but likes to be Britisher still;
With his _Times_ and his "tub" he is 'appy; without 'em he's apt to feel
ill.
Wy, when I was last year in Parry, I went for a Bullyvard crawl
One night arter supper, when who should I spot but my pal BOBBY BALL.
He wos doin' the gay at a Caffy, was BOB, _petty vair_, and all that,
Togged up to the nines with his claw-hammer, cuff-shooters, gloves, and
crush-hat.
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