It left me with brain discumfuddled, the blues, and a thundering thust.
It gave poor Lil 'Arris the 'orrors. "Lor, 'Arry," she sez, coming out,
"They've styged it, no doubt, tol-lol-poppish, but wot is the 'ole thing about?
I feel just as creepy and 'oller, along o' these 'ere warmed-up ghosts,
As if I'd bin dining on spiders. Eugh! Let's 'ave a glarss at 'The Posts.'"
It took two 'ot tiddleys to warm 'er. An' when I was blowin' a cloud
A-top o' the tram going 'ome, she sez, "'Arry," sez she, "I ain't proud,
But don't tyke me never no more to no New Woman nonsense," sez she.
"It's narsty; and not one good snivel or larf in the whole jamboree.
"I don't call them people, I don't." "No; they're probblems, Lil, that's wot they are.