THE CRUSADERS.

We are drivin’ out the infidel, we're hittin’ up the Turk,

Same ez Richard slung his right across the

Saracen invader

In old days of which I'm readin’. Now we're gettin’ in our work,

‘ N’ what price me nibs, I ask yeh, ez a qualified Crusader!

‘ Ere I am, a thirsty Templar in the fields of Palestine,

Where that hefty little fighter, Bobby

Sable, smit the heathen,

And where Richard Coor de Lion trimmed the Moslem good‘ n’ fine,

‘ N’ he took the belt from Saladin, the slickest Dago breathin’.