Stop yer messin’.
A pound a week yer earn yer say—
Oh, I don’t fink!- Two bob a day’s
More like. I loves yer. Yer can stay,
Yer bloomin’ blessin’.”
They tickled the people’s fancy; they were so obviously out for a lark and so evidently intended to have it. When “My bloke’s a moke” was sung, from bank to bank the chorus was taken up; even the strollers, hanging over the bridge, caught the swing of it.
“For yer cawn’t be ‘appy when yer ‘alf in love—
Yer must taik one road or the other;
Yer can maike o’ life an up’ill shove,
Or marry a bloke wot ain’t yer brother.”