When rivals in the Party fray,
Their sluggish blood unwarmed,
An old-world courtesy display
(‘ My honourable friend,’ they say,
‘ Is surely misinformed?’ )
Such feeble methods I despise,
My principles are higher;
Opponents I apostrophise
With piercing and persistent cries
Of‘ Renegade!’ or‘ Liar!’
For I can hear, above the din,
A voice within my breast
That bids me use such language, in
The public interest.
Some golfers, when they miss a putt,
Look mortified or frown,
Keeping their lips discreetly shut,
They say‘ Good gracious!’ or‘ Tut-tut,
‘ That makes me seven down!’
Such self-control is hard to bear,
I loathe their sickly phrases,
And much prefer, to clear the air,
An honest‘ Blast!’ or‘ Blazes!’
Explaining, if the caddies grin
Or partners should protest,
That I am simply swearing, in
The public interest!
When ladies whom I chance to meet
In crowded Tube or tram
Attempt to oust me from my seat
Or tread upon my tender feet,
I always murmur‘ Damn!’
And when upon the telephone,
‘ Exchange’ remarks,‘ Line's busy!’
My choice of language, and its tone,
Makes hardened operators groan
And supervisors dizzy.
For I maintain, through thick and thin,
Discourtesy is best,
So long as you display it in
The public interest!