It costs some cash to catch the Gauls,
And placard all the Paris walls,
But his big balance never falls.
Who finds the money?
He travels like a little king,
And “cuts a dash” and “does the thing,”
And spares no cost to have his fling.
Who finds the money?
He’s no estate, he’s lost his pay,
Yet thousands go from day to day
In working France for Boulanger.
Who finds the money?
In London he has settled down;
He means to have his fling in town—
A little king without a crown.
Who finds the money?
When kings and princes meet at tea,
When statesmen other statesmen see,
They jerk their thumbs at General B——
And whisper on the strict q.t.,
Who finds the money?