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 Lon.,
Wiv Ginger Mick,
Jist 'eadin' 'em, an' doing 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 his phiz
The glarssy eye—fer bein' wot 'e is.
I've watched 'em walkin' in the gardings 'ere
Cliners from orfices an' shops an' such;
The sorter skirts I dursn't come too near,
Or dare to touch.
An, when I see the kind er looks they carst…
Gorstrooth! Wot is the use o' me, I arst?
Wot wus I slung 'ere for? An wot's the good
Of yearnin' after any ideel tart?…
Ar, if a bloke wus only understood!
'E's got a 'eart:
'E's got a soul inside 'im, poor or rich.
But wot's the use, when 'Eaven's crool'd 'is pitch?
I tells meself some day I'll take a pull
An' look eround fer some good, stiddy job,
An' cut the push fer good an' all; I'm full
Of that crook mob!
An', in some Spring the fucher 'olds in store,
I'll cop me prize an' long in vain no more.
The little winds is stirrin' in the trees,
Where little birds is chantin' lovers' lays;
The music of the sorft an' barmy breeze…
Aw, spare me days!
If this 'ere dilly feelin' doesn't stop
I'll lose me block an' stoush some flamin' cop!
II. The Intro
'Er name's Doreen …Well spare me bloomin' days!
You could er knocked me down wiv 'arf a brick!
Yes, me, that kids meself I know their ways,
An' 'as a name for smoogin' in our click!
I just lines up an' tips the saucy wink.
But strike! The way she piled on dawg! Yer'd think
A bloke was givin' back-chat to the Queen….
'Er name's Doreen.
I seen 'er in the markit first uv all,
Inspectin' brums at Steeny Isaacs' stall.
I backs me barrer in—the same ole way—
An' sez, "Wot O! It's been a bonzer day.
'Ow is it fer a walk?"…Oh, 'oly wars!
The sorter look she gimme! Jest becors
I tried to chat 'er, like you'd make a start
Wiv ANY tart.