He doesn't haunt pubs, he has eight or nine clubs
For he's the St.James' Street Cat
He's the cat we all greet as we walk down the street, in his coat of festidious black
No common place mousers have such well cut trousers, or such an impeccable back
In the whole of St.James's the smartest of names is the name of this brumell of cats
And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to by Bustopher Jones in white spats
My visits are occasional to the senior educational
For it is against the rules for any one cat to belong both to that and the joint superior schools
When I'm seen in a hurry, there's probably curry at the Siamese or at the Glutton
When I look full of gloom , then I've lunched at the Tomb on cabbage, rice pudding and mutton
In the whole of St.James's the smartest of names is the name of this brumell of cats
And we're all of us proud to be nodded or bowed to by Bustopher Jones in white spats!
So much in this way passes Bustopher's day, at one club or another he's found
It can be no surprise that under our eyes he has grown unmistakably round
He's a twenty-five pounder, or I am a bounder
And he's putting on weight every day
But I'm so well preserved because I've observed all me life a routine and I'll say
I am still in my prime I shall last out my time
That's the word from this stoutest of cats
It must be and shall be spring in pall mall
While Bustopher Jones wears white
Bustopher Jones wears white
Bustopher Jones wears white spats