I hate your imported Havannahs,
Your perfumed cheroots I decline;
His own special weakness each man has,
A pipe, I confess it, is mine.
Why take from their elegant wrappers
Your gilded cork-tipped cigarettes,
Fit only for militant flappers
Or reckless R.M.C. cadets?
What need for cigars to be pining
When smoking a briar or a clay;
In front of the fire I'm reclining,
And peacefully puffing away.