Bring on the rosy-cheeked girls, 
Bring on the smiling ones, the light-footed dancers, 
Those that sing with their eyes, 
Those with the warm breasts and the soft hands, 
Those that look deep in the eyes, and not at the garbage of garb. 
Bring on the dark, the fair, the brown-as-a-berry, 
Bring them on, all of them, with their wet, laughing mouths, 
The fat, the thin, the short and the lanky, 
Let them be as full of life as a pod with peas, 
Let them be as company-comfortable as an old friendly jacket, young or old, 
But most of all. . . . let them be merry 

And then take all the others. 
All the tight-lipped, crab-faced, mewling, mithering, 
Niggardly, sour-faced, crab-mouthed, cold-titted, tight-arsed, 
Moaning, sullen, frozen-legs-together, money-grubbing bitches! 
Take them and heap them all together 
On some cold, bleary, dreary moor 
In the howling sleet and moaning drizzle of November. . . . 
and leave them there! 
For it deserves them, and they each other. 

Then bring on the lads, the smiling lads! 
Open-handed, shoulder-to-the-wheel lads, 
Lame-dogs-helped-over-stiles lads, 
Take-a-pint, stand-a-round lads, 
Good, laughing lads. 
Lads with a quart of life in their hands 
And eyes that look straight. . . 
Bring on the tall, the short, the long, 
The runners, the walkers, 
Those that can hammer, those that can turn out a song, 
Bring on the fat, the thin, the bald and the hairy, young or old, 
So long as they sup life by the gallon. . . . 
So long as they're merry 

Then take all the others. 
All the sly-eyed, twisty-mouthed grabbers and fumblers, 
The shifty-faced, two-tongued, lead-swinging lizards, 
The snotty-nosed, mardy-arsed bullies and false friends. . . . 
And stick them up to their necks in the foulest stinkpot of an old bog you can find. . 
Head Down! 
And leave them there! 
But for God's sake, not too near that moor with all the old whores. . . 
If they meet up and breed. . . we're all buggered!