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They smashes things an' carries on a treat,
An' 'owls an' scolds an' wakes the bloomin' street
Wiv noisy mag.
But 'er—she never speaks; she never stirs…
I drops me bundle… An' the game is 'ers.
Jist two months wed! Eight weeks uv married bliss
Wiv my Doreen, an' now it's come to this!
Wot wus I thinkin' uv? Gawd! I ain't fit
To kiss the place 'er little feet 'as been!
'Er that I called me wife, me own Doreen!
Fond dreams 'as flit;
Love's done a bunk, an' joy is up the pole;
An' shame an' sorrer's roostin' in me soul.
'Twus orl becors uv Ginger Mick—the cow!
(I wish't I 'ad 'im 'ere to deal wiv now!
I'd pass 'im one, I would! 'E ain't no man!)
I meets 'im Choosdee ev'nin' up the town.
"Wot O," 'e chips me. "Kin yeh keep one down?
I sez I can.
We 'as a couple; then meets three or four
Flash coves I useter know, an' 'as some more.
"'Ow are yeh on a little gamble, Kid?"
Sez Ginger Mick. "Lars' night I'm on four quid.
Come 'round an' try yer luck at Steeny's school."
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