The theatres have emptied, and the traffic has gone,

Supper parties have ended with a yawn and a song,

So Fleet Street is working without its coat on,

As papers are printed a new edition’s been born.

For the last twelve hours the known world and the not so well known,

Have been sending information by wire, cable, telegraph and phone,

America has spoken over and over,

A French gentleman had lunch then killed his lover,

A correspondent in Peking who all thought was dead,

Has sent a brilliant dispatch somebody said.

A solicitors dog has chewed up and swallowed a will,

And parliament, today, has passed a new bill,

So Fleet Street, the papers and the editors said,

Right now it’s all done we will put it to bed.