And is know’d in our Alley.
Oh, don’t I like the blessed day
As comes afore the Monday!
Cause why, it is old Solly’s way
To go to church on Sunday.
And there a-watching nigh the door,
We beggars waits for Solly;
He takes sitch pity on the poor—
My eye, wot precious folly!
In mud and wet I slops about