The Malingerer
Me mus’ wukin overdue,
An’ ’tis all because o’ you;
Me mus’ wuk hard laka dis
’Counten o’ you’ wutlessness.
’Tis a dutty sort o’ trick,
Ebery duty-time you sick;
An’ ’tis always my bad luck
Fe detail fe extra wuk.
Night off ágain me won’ get,
Dese t’ings mek a poo’ man fret,
An’ feel him could not do worse
Dan fe go join Police Force.
Hospital a fe you bed;
God knows wha mek you won’ dead!
Doctor no know how fe do,
Else dem wouldan p’ison you.
An’ me know man dyin’ out,
Yet de doctor dem would doubt,
Dough he’s weak in ebery limb,
Dat a t’ing was wrong wid him.
69
