Says a P to an O,
On the hat of a beau,
Which long had defied stormy weather,
In sooth lovely O,
The cause I’d fair know,
That brings you and me here together.
I came here forlorn
From the alphabet torn
To heighten the manager’s grief,
And I says the O,
On a like errand go,
’Tis to good McMeinhall relief.
Ah! so so says the P,
The cause I well see,
We both are old Dilcoorth’s abettors;
And whenever O.P.
On the hat band we see
The wearer is learning his letters.