Joe, he was a young cordwangler,
Munging greebles he did go,
And he loved a bogler's daughter
By the name of Chiswick Flo.

Vain she was and like a grusset
Though her gander parts were fine,
But she sneered at his cordwangle
As it hung upon the line.

So he stole a woggler's mooly
For to make a wedding ring,
But the Bow Street Runners caught him
And the judge said "He will swing."

Oh, they hung him by the postern,
Nailed his mooly to the fence
For to warn all young cordwanglers
That it was a grave offence.

There's a moral to this story,
Though your cordwangle be poor,
Keep your hands off other's moolies,
For it is against the law.