Volume 103 — SEA-SIDE ILLS.

'Tis the Band of the Corporation— And it plays on that body's pier; And one knows by the way That the instruments play, That the talent is not too dear. And the trombone is not too clear; When it has to play quick It is moistful and thick, For the trombone is fond of beer— It is nurtured on pots of beer. 'Tis the Band of the Corporation— And the cornet is fat just here; And he's short, and bull-necked. When you come to reflect How he wastes all his wind, 'tis queer That the man should be stout just here! But the noise of the throat In the solos denote That the cornet is fond of beer— It's been brought up on pots of beer. 'Tis the Band of the Corporation— And I know why that Band is queer, For I see in the face Of the trombone a trace Of the blackguard who blows it near Me in Town, at most times of year! And I mark, too, the face Of that beastly big-bass— (Which has also been reared on beer)— And I know, too, the face Of that other disgrace, The fat cornet! They've come down here— They've been borrowed, and lent new gear! But I know them of old, And in spite of the gold Round the hats, with the peaks just here, I can see who they are while near. They wear bowlers in Town, And frock-coats which are brown, On account of their age—or beer! For they play to the public for beer; For they stand and they blow On the kerb in a row, And then go to the public for beer! And so this is the Band down here!