||A gambler born was young Basil
His finances were all of a lather
A wayward boy, but his mother's joy
And likewise, the son of his father.
Some daring things he'd been known to do
He must have had nerves of iron
One Sunday he marched to Trafalgar Square
And poked his tongue out at a lion.
Yet he always held his head up
Like the scions of noble houses
For the vests he wore were made from the seat
Of his father's corduroy trousers.
And he might have owed ‘tons of money’
But he owed nobody a penny
For tho' he 'touched' everybody he met
Nobody lent him any.
He took a long walk in the country once
And his thirst nearly gave him fits
So he tossed an old cow for a gallon of milk
And a bull tossed him double or quits.
He'd order the suppers and sparkling wine
And the bill - he'd always 'foot' it,