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Somethin' or someone—I don't rightly know;
But, seems to me, I'm kind o' lookin' for
A tart I knoo a 'undred years ago,
Or, maybe, more.
Wot's this I've 'eard them call that thing?… Geewhizz!
Me ideel bit o' skirt! That's wot it is!
Me ideel tart!… An', bli'me, look at me!
Jist take a squiz at this, an' tell me can
Some square an' honist tom take this to be
'Er own true man?
Aw, Gawd! I'd be as true to 'er, I would—
As straight an' stiddy as… Ar, wot's the good?
Me, that 'as done me stretch fer stoushin' Johns,
An' spen's me leisure gittin' on the shick,
An' 'arf me nights down there, in Little Lons.,
Wiv Ginger Mick,
Jist 'eadin' 'em, an' doin' in me gilt.
Tough luck! I s'pose it's 'ow a man is built.
It's 'ow Gawd builds a bloke; but don't it 'urt
When 'e gits yearnin's fer this 'igher life,
On these Spring mornin's, watchin' some sweet skirt—
Some fucher wife—
Go sailin' by, an' turnin' on 'is phiz
The glarssy eye—fer bein' wot 'e is.
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