The poem
I much admire, I must admit, The man who robs a Bank; It takes a lot of guts and grit, For lack of which I thank The gods: a chap 'twould make of me You wouldn't ask to tea.
I do not mean a burglar cove Who climbs into a house, From room to room flash-lit to rove As quiet as a mouse; Ah no, in Crime he cannot rank With him who robs a Bank.
Who seemeth not to care a whoop For danger at its height; Who handles what is known as 'soup,' And dandles dynamite: Unto a bloke who can do that I doff my bowler hat.
I think he is the kind of stuff To be a mighty man In battlefield,--aye, brave enough The Cross Victorian To win and rise to high command, A hero in the land.
What General with all his swank Has guts enough to rob a Bank!