Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones    In fact, he's remarkably fat    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 fastidious 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 Brummell 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    And it is against the rules    For any one cat to belong both to that    And the Joint Superior Schools    For a similar reason, when game is in season   I'm found, not at Fox's, but Blimp's   I am frequently seen at the gay Stage and Screen   Which is famous for winkles and shrimps      In the season of venison I give my Benison   To the Pothunter's succulent bones   And just before noon's not a moment too soon   To drop in for a drink at the Drones   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 Brummell 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 my life a routine and I'd say    I am still in my prime, I shall last out my time       That's the word from this stoutest of cats       It must and it shall be spring in Pall Mall    While Bustopher Jones wears white    Bustopher Jones wears white    Bustopher Jones wears white spats!