‘The blank and space and stars!’ she yelled; ‘the nameless crimson dash!
I’ll smash the blanky crimson and his square affair, I’ll smash’—
In short, she drank and raved and shrieked and tore her crimson hair,
And swore to murder Billy and to pound his square affair.
And so one summer evening, as the day was growing dim,
She watched her bloke go out, and foxed his square affair and him.
That night the park was startled by the shrieks that rent the air—
The ‘Streak’ had gone for Billy and for Billy’s square affair.
The ‘gory’ push had foxed the Streak, they foxed her to the park,
And they, of course, were close at hand to see the bleedin’ lark;
A cop arrived in time to hear a ‘gory B.’ declare
Gor blar-me! here’s the Red Streak foul of Billy’s square affair.’
. . . . . . . . . .
Now Billy scowls about the Rocks, his manly beauty marr’d,
And Billy’s girl, upon her ’ed, is doin’ six months ’ard;
Bill’s swivel eye is in a sling, his heart is in despair,
And in the Sydney ‘Orspital lies Billy’s square affair.
A DERRY ON A COVE
’Twas in the felon’s dock he stood, his eyes were black and blue;
His voice with grief was broken, and his nose was broken, too;
He muttered, as that broken nose he wiped upon his cap—
‘It’s orful when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.
‘I am a honest workin’ cove, as any bloke can see,
It’s just because the p’leece has got a derry, sir, on me;
Oh, yes, the legal gents can grin, I say it ain’t no joke—
It’s cruel when the p’leece has got a derry on a bloke.’
‘Why don’t you go to work?’ he said (he muttered, ‘Why don’t you?’).
‘Yer honer knows as well as me there ain’t no work to do.
And when I try to find a job I’m shaddered by a trap—
It’s awful when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.’
I sigh’d and shed a tearlet for that noble nature marred,
But, ah! the Bench was rough on him, and gave him six months’ hard.
He only said, ‘Beyond the grave you’ll cop it hot, by Jove!
There ain’t no angel p’leece to get a derry on a cove.’