Old Hewson the Cobbler

I remember that there was a low song sung at some wine parties in Oxford about fifteen years ago, which began with the words, "My name is old Hewson," &c. I do not remember the words, but they were gross: the chief *fun* seemed to consist in the chorus,—a sort of *burring* noise being made with the lips, while the doubled fists were rubbed and thumped upon the thigh, as if the cobbler's lapstone had been there. Was Hewson, the Parliamentarian colonel, a cobbler?