Sit down Neighbours all and I’ll tell a merry story,
About a British Farmer & Billy Pitt the Tory,
I had it piping hot from Ebenezer Barber,
Who sail’d right from England, and lies in Boston harbour.

This Billy he is call’d Britannia’s prime ruler,
Tho’ he be but a puppet that’s hung out to fool her,
His name is a passprt to get in old sinners,
So he deals the cards that the knaves may be winners.

He was bred up a Whig, but with Nabobs to thrive Sir,
Who have votes in the House, about two out of ev’ry five Sir;
He gave up the people and vow’d, to his scandal,
That they should seek for their bread, without daylight or candle.

Now it hap’t to the country he went for a blessing,
And from his State dad he got a new lesson;
He went to daddy Jenky by Trimmer Hal attended,
In such company, good lack, how his morals must be mended.

This Harry was always a staunch friend to Boston,
His bowels are soft for they yearn’d for Indostan;
If I had him in our township I’d feather him and tar him,
With forty lacking one too, I’d lame him and I’d scar him.

With his skin full of wine and his head full of State tricks,
Sham reforms, commutations, and the rest of his late tricks,
He came back with Harry, two birds of a feather,
And both drunk as pipers they knock’d their heads together.

Now so it fell out that this pair were benighted,
And drove out of the road, so the Statesmen alighted,
And to get in again away scrambled they, Sir,
To find the back road to the King’s highway, Sir.

Long lost in the dark were these lights of the nation,
But stumbled at length on a small habitation,
To which they march’d up, while the fowls in confusion,
Thought their lives were aim’d at by this bold intrusion.

The dogs bark’d, the ducks quack’d, and sore Billy baited,
The wife she cries out, we be all ruinated,
The straightway she snatch’d up the vessel she pissed in,
To drop on the pate of this daring Philistine.

The husband awak’d be her rage and her screaming,
At first he suppos’d that his spouse might be dreaming,
But to make matters short snatch’d his gun in a fury,
And cried, sons of Belial, I’ve got what will cure ye.

Then Billy began for to make an oration,
As oft times he had done to bamboozle the nation;
But Hodge cried, begone, or I’ll crack thy young crown for’t,
Thou belong’st to a rare gang of rogues, I’ll be bound for’t.

Now Hodge, quoth the wife, don’t you mind his lewd bant’ring,
For certain he has under his coat a dark lanthorn;
Shut the gate of the court, if he once gets within it,
I’ll be bound he’ll whip up our backstairs in a minute.

Then the Wife she went on, can ye go for to say now,
Any good upon Earth made thee take this Bye way now,
Thou com’st to get foot in the House that’s the Plan on’t,
And so let in thy Gang for to make what they can on’t.

Don’t you hear how the brazen fac’d Rogue now pretends, Man
He crept up in the Dark but for Virtuous ends, Man
He says he’s our Friend but it’s no such thing, Man
The impudent Dog would say so to the King, Man

Then Billy perceiving the Wife in a Fury,
And knowing his Deeds would not stand Woman’s Jury,
Felt the Spirit of Jenky a dangerous Potion,
And roar’d out to Harry to speak for the Motion.

Then Harry stept up but Hodge wisely supposing,
His part was to steal whilst the other was prosing,
Let fly at poor Billy and shot through his lac’d Coat,
Oh what a pity ’twas that it did not hit his Waistcoat.

Solid Men of Boston banish strong potations,
Solid Men of Boston make no long Orations,
Solid Men of Boston go to bed at Sun down,
And never lose your way like the Loggerheads of London.