I don't a bit know what they meant, but if them votes should send hus
As fairly off our chumps as men, the shine will be tremendous!
We shall 'ave a fair beano then! Well, I'm not nuts on voting.
Your 'Arriet's lay is—better pay! That's not wot they're promoting,
Them spouting Labour Candidates. Of women's work they're jealous;
They light the fire to warm hus? Bah! they're only good at bellows!
Their Eight 'Ours Day, and such-like rot, gives me the 'ump, dear Polly—
Wouldn't some women like it, though? Well, 'oping for it's folly,
Like longing for a seal-skin sweet, or a Marquige for a lover.
Man's work may be too long sometimes, a woman's never over.