Bustopher Jones
Bustoher Jones is not skin and bones
In fact he's remarkably fat
He doesn't haunt pubs, he has eight or nine clubs
For he's the St. James's Street Cat
He's the cat we al great as he walks down the street
In his coat of fastidious black
No commonplace mousers have such well-cut trousers
Or such an impeccable back
In the whole of St. James's the smartest of names
Is the name of this Brummell of cats
And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to by
Bustopher Jones in white spats!
My visits are occasional to the Senior Educational
And it is against the rules
For any one cat to belong both to that
And the Joint Superior Schools
When I'm seen in a hurry
There's probably curry
At the "Siamese" or at the "Glutton"
If I look full of gloom, then I've lunched at the tomb
On cabage, rice pudding, and mutton
In the whole of St. James's the smartest of names
Is the mane of this Brummell of cats
And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to
By Bustopher Jones in white
Bustopher Jones in white
Bustopher Jones in white spats
So much in this way passes Bustopher's day
At one club or another he's found
It can be no surprise, that under our eyes
He has grown unmistakably round
He's a twenty-five-pounder
But I am a bounder
And he's putting on weight everyday
But I'm so well preserved, because I've observed
All my life a routine; and I'd say
I am still in my prime: I sahll last out my time
That's the word from the stoutest of cats
It must and it shall, be Spring in Pal Mall
While Bustopher Jones wears white
Bustopher Jones wears white
Bustopher Jones wears white spats!
