When I was seven I got dressed up as a city gent and walked into the Bank of England shouting ' fuck the Pound'.

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,
He call’d for his candle, his bell, and his book:
In holy anger, and pious grief,
He solemnly curs’d that rascally thief!
He curs’d him at board, he curs’d him in bed,
From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head!
He curs’d him in sleeping, that every night
He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright;
He curs’d him in eating, he curs’d him in drinking,
He curs’d him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking;
He curs’d him in sitting, in standing, in lying;
He curs’d him in walking, in riding, in flying;
He curs’d him in living, he curs’d him in dying!
Never was heard such a terrible curse!
But what gave rise
To no little surprise,
Nobody seem’d one penny the worse!

"So up I got in anger,
And took a book I had,
And put a ribbon on my hair
To please a passing lad.
And, "One thing there's no getting by — I've been a wicked girl," said I;
But if I can't be sorry, why,
I might as well be glad!"

Wot cher! all the neighbours cried,
Who yer gonna meet, Bill,
Have yer bought the street, Bill?
Laugh! I thought I should've died,
Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road.