[MRS. PEACHUM]
Now there's a man, the living tool of Satan
He charges forth while others are debatin'
Connivin', cocky knave with all the trimmin'
I know one thing will trim him down—women
In women he meets deep authority
In them he feels his old dependency

He sniggers at the good book
Mocks the priss and prim
Does anything for pay if it will pay
And since he knows what ladies do to him
He thrusts them well out of his way
All through the day he swears he's self denying
Then dusk descends and once again he's lying

They're all the same in meeting love's confusion
Poor noble souls get blotted in illusion
The one who swore he would escape the clinches
Who is it that entangles him—wenches
He'd fain resist their lush authority
Before him stands his old dependency

He hugged the Ten Commandments
Trod the tried and true
Would godly be and golden rule obey
For lunch ate frugally, a grape a two
Survived on one pure thought a day
He screamed, "I've mastered it without half trying"
Appears the moon and once again he's lying
(spoken)
Idiots, all of them.