I'll tell you that my relatives were rolling in the isles
My uncle's drunken lurch confounds the crowd
Which throngs this seabound bank of smiles
And throws the cat out on the tiles
And promulgates the proud

I've always been a collier like my father and his son
The dark has hid our awful family shame
The shame of battles never won
The poor bicuspid cuckold's done
With trying to clear his name

His name is dire; I hear it with a shudder and a groan
My rival's pressing hard upon my heels
My heels sore wounded, grazed with stone
I cannot fight him on my own
I'd fall beneath the wheels

My wives are dumb: I know they think I'm always working late
The nightie and the shift for once agree
I visit one from three till eight
(Like Janus, twofold is my fate)
The other, ten till three.

It cannot last for ever; when I'm sober it seems clear
I cannot always keep up this deceit
I visit one from love of beer
The other 'cause she lives so near
I hope they'll never meet.