There was a railway porter on the North South Eastern Line,
Whose intellect was limited, whose age was forty nine.
His post was situated at the Muddle, Puddle Juction
The station's names he called out indistincly, but with unction.
And all this porter had to do thro' morning, noon and night
Was to waggle to and fro a wretched bell with all his might;
And shout this sentence in a manner you all must know,
'Change here for London, Chatham, Peckem, Brighton, Margate, Bow.'

He thought in all his thirty years of service it was strange,
His wages never were increased. 'Twas time to make a change.
He meant to try another calling earlier or later,
So went at once to Spiers and Pond who turned him to a waiter!
But in his new vocation, he in trouble quickly got,
The first old gentleman who came required a dinner hot.
And asked, 'What are the joints?' He said, 'The joints sir, yes sir, oh!
The joints are London, Chatham, Peckem, Brighton, Margate, Bow.'

He got dismissed and went away in misery and pain,
Determined that he never would a waiter be again;
Such tax upon the intellect would surely make life shorter
He'd still remain the Muddle Puddle Junction Railway Porter.
And having got his berth again, his spirits did revive,
With pride and joy he waited till the first train did arrive.
He rang his bell and shouted out with vigour and with ease,
'Two beefs, a kidney and potatoes, jelly and a cheese.'

At last the station master said, 'This sort of thing won't do;
He'd send the Irish Mail to smash and call it Isish Stew.
We like originality but do not want a dreamer.'
The porter went as 'cabin boy' on board a River Steamer.
His duties they were simple for he merely had to shout,
Instructions from the captain, when the boat was turned about.
But when he neared the Temple Pier, he bellowed down below,
'Change here, the joints are Hackney, Kidneys, Peckham, Jelly, Bow.'

The Captain said, 'This cabin boy is really far too droll,
We stand as little chance of reaching Lambeth as the Pole.'
So once again the porter exercised his former function,
Of wagging to and fro the bell at Muddle Puddle Junction.
The recollection of his former duties proved too strong,
For when the afternoon express came clattering along,
He nautically shouted this extraordinary yarn,
'Go on ahead, Oh ease her, Back her, Stop her, turn her stern.'

This proved the climax of the porter and his pleasing way,
The managing directors said, This sort of thing won't pay.'
They pensioned off their servant with a fitting honorarium,
And made him Hall door porter at the Westminster Aquarium.
And now if anyone enquires with condescending smile,
The way to see the octopus, he answers in this style:
'Down here for Kidneys, Stepney, Stop her, Jelly, Brighton, Peas,
The tanks are Hackney, turn her stern, Potatoes, Chatham, Cheese.'

The final three verses written by James McCraw Junior.
Written and composed by George Grossman Junior
Performed by Lionel Brough (1837-1909)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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