Fer when a bloke 'as come to be reel cobbers wiv a bloke,
They sorter swap good fellership wivout words bein' spoke.
I never slung no guff to Mick, 'e never smooged to me.
But we could smoke, an' 'old our jor, an' be reel company.
There 'as bin times that 'e would curse to 'ave recalled by me,
When I 'ave seen 'im doin' things that coves calls charity;
An' there's been times, an' frequent times, in spite uv orl 'is looks,
When I 'ave 'eard 'im sayin' things that blokes shoves inter books.
But Ginger Mick wus Ginger Mick—a leery boy, fer keeps,
'Oo 'owled "Wile Rabbee!" in the streets, in tones that give yeh creeps.
'E never planned 'is mode uv life, nor chose the Lane fer lair.
No more than 'e designed 'is chiv or colour uv 'is 'air.
So Ginger 'awked, an' Ginger pinched, an' Ginger went to quod,
An' never thort to waste 'is time in blamin' man or God—
An' then there came the Call uv Stoush, or Jooty—wofs a name?
An' Ginger cocked 'is ear to it, an' found 'is flamin' game.
I intrajuice me cobber 'ere; an' don't make no ixcuse
To any culchered click that it's a peb I intrajuice.
I dunno wot 'is ratin' wus in this 'ere soshul plan;
I only know, inside o' me, I intrajuice a man.
Melbourne,The Sentimental Bloke.
