My name is Nunty Cormorant
And my finance is sound,
I lend you Englishmen hot air
At one and three the pound.
 
I lend you Englishmen hot air
And I get all the beef
While you stalwart sheep of freedom
Are on the poor relief.
 
Wot oh! my buxom hearties,
What ain’t got work no more
And don’t know what bug is a-bitin’
To keep your feelin’s sore,
 
There is blokes in automobiles
And their necks sunk into fur
That keep on gettin’ usury
To make 'em cosier.
 
I read these fellers puts it
Most tidily away
And then lends out their printed slips
To keep the wolf away
 
From the vaults and combination
Safes in Thread and Needle street.
I wouldn’t 'ave the needle
If I had more grub to eat.
 
Oh the needle is your portion,
My sufferin’ fellow men,
Till the King shall take the notion
To own his coin again.

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