Bumming
Of all de people I don’t like,
A chief one is de bummer;
He bums around from morn to night
T’rough winter an’ t’rough summer.
Ef we should go aroun’ John’s shop,
An’ he ketch scent o’ rum’s up,
You’ll soon see’m pokin’ up him nose
Wid him bare-face an’ comes-up.
Ef we are smokin’ cigarette,
He wants a part of it too;
An’ ebery bluff you gi’e to him,
He’s answer got to fit you.
Anedder thing I really hate
Is, when de touris’ come in,
To see some people flockin’ dem,
An’ ebery one a-bummin’.
I think it is an ugly sight
To see a bummin’ bobby;
Yet plenty o’ dem tek it for
A precious piece of hobby.[1]
- ↑ Many of them make it their favourite practice.
