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Me cuffs kep' playin' wiv me nervis fears,
Me patent leathers nearly brought the tears,
An' there I sits wiv, "Yes, mum. Thanks. Indeed?"
Me stand-up collar sorin' orf me ears.
"Life's 'ard," she sez, an' then she brightens up.
"Still, we 'ave alwus 'ad our bite and sup.
Doreen's been sich a help; she 'as indeed.
Some more tea, Willy? 'Ave another cup."
Willy! O 'ell! 'Ere wus a flamin' pill!
A moniker that alwus makes me ill.
"If it's the same to you, mum," I replies,
"I answer quicker to the name o' Bill."
Up goes 'er 'ands an' eyes, "That vulgar name!
No, Willy, but it isn't all the same,
My fucher son must be respectable."
"Orright," I sez, "I s'pose it's in the game."
"Me fucher son," she sez, "right on frum this
Must not take anythink I say amiss.
I know me jooty be me son-in-lor;
So, Willy, come an' give yer Mar a kiss."
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