Now Springheel Jack was a dancing crack
with a gal by the name of Joan.
She was petite, with twinkling feet
and he was slick as a bone.

Then a young buckaroo at the front of the queue
called back, ‘Wait your turn!’
It was handsome Dave, sometimes known as the Rave
and a handy man at the urn.

The Florrie N was a boozing den
when the month reached a certain day.
’Twas on such a night that Dave started the fight
as Joan was wont to say.

In the story it’s said that the brawl reached its head
when the Widows entered the fray.
With handbags awhirl they attacked as one girl
and their fame has come down to this day.

At the height of the din the Chairman stepped in,
with a rap of his gavel to say,
‘We’re gathered to feast, not behave like a beast.
There’s no fight on the programme today.’