|
Now, as the poit sez, the days drag by
On ledding feet. I wish't they'd do a guy.
I dunno 'ow I 'ad the nerve ter speak,
An' make that meet wiv 'er fer Sund'y week!
But strike! It's funny wot a bloke 'll do
When 'e's all out…. She's gorn, when I come-to.
I'm yappin' to me cobber uv me mash….
I've done me dash!
'Er name's Doreen.… An' me—that thort I knoo
The ways uv tarts, an' all that smoogin' game!
An' so I ort; fer ain't I known a few?
Yet some'ow… I dunno. It ain't the same.
I carn't tell wot it is; but, all I know,
I've dropped me bundle—an' I'm glad it's so.
Fer when I come ter think uv wot I been….
'Er name's Doreen.
|
