Track byジェームズ・コーデン
I'm Bustopher Jones I'm not skin and bones In fact, I'm remarkably fat I don't haunt pubs I have eight or nine clubs For I'm the St. James Street Cat I'm the cat they all greet as I walk down the street In my coat of fastidious black No commonplace 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 ben'son 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 Thanks, Tugger When I'm seen in a hurry, there's probably curry At the Siamese, or at the Glutton If 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 Bustopher Jones in white Bustopher Jones in white spats So, much in this way, passes Bustopher's day At one club Or another I'm found It can be no surprise that under our eyes He has grown unmistakably round I'm a twenty-five pounder, or I am a bounder And I'm 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