The Sorrows of the Southan"
Borne on the breezes of the West – Sou – West,
What are these sounds one hears
That break upon my post-meridian rest,
And falling on the ears
Of my beloved ladies of the harem
I tell my people 'tis the conquering heroes
That lit off fires of joy;
But I know better; they are british guns
Intended to destroy
The peace I smoke from my narcotic hubble Bubble.
How can I cope with the accursed [indecipherable]
If once my forts give out?
I miss the usual concert of the powers,
I have no ships about,
Save where the ten knot "Goeben" cracked
O, how I loathe that vessel! how her name
Stinks in my quivering nose,
Since that infernal juncture when she came
Flying before her foes,
And in my haven dropped her beastly anchor