London Types: Bus Driver

He's called The General from the brazen craft And dash with which he sneaks a bit of road And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed, Back-answers of the newest he'll explode; He reins his horses with an air; he treats With scoffing calm whatever powers there be; He gets it straight, puts a bit on, and meets His losses with both lip and £ s. d.; He arrogates a special taste in short; Is loftily grateful for a flagrant smoke; At all the smarter housemaids winks his court, And taps them for half-crowns; being stoney-broke, Lives lustily; is ever on the make; And hath, I fear, none other gods but Fake.