Some queer reports I've heard of late, have very much annoyed me
But e'er I go much farther I'll just tell you who I am
I'm Bobby Ninety-two X and those who employ me
Say that in the force there is not such another man.

Chorus: I'm the man wot takes to pris'n,
He who steals wot isn't his'n
X you know is my division,
Number Ninety-Two.

This man now telling tales to me, I understand's a soldier
A fellow who's conceit I'm sure, amusing is to see
He's vexed because my wife as is, gave him the cold shoulder
To wed a hamsome bobby, which, I needn't say is me.


I can't help laughing, 'cos I know, the fellow in a rage is
And says because I've cut him out, my conduct I shall rue
I know he didn't care for her, 'twas only for her wages
But she preferred to place her trust in number Ninety-Two.


My beat is near the Royal Exchange, I look so neat and nobby
Walking up and down the street, you'll see me every day
When a lady's lost her way, of course, she comes and asks the bobby
And I point out the direction, in the grandest sort of way.


When I am chaffed, I always laugh, tho' to the temper trying
Don't use my staff, unless I'm bound, for that is folly too
But I must go, because I know, my darling wife is dying
To clasp her little arms around Policeman Ninety-Two.

Written and performed by Arthur Lloyd (1840-1904) - 1870
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