Trade's bloomin' bad, and rents is high;
Yet more and more the Guv'ment axes.
Progress, old man, is all my heye,—
As means raised rents, and rates, and taxes.
School Boards, Free Liberies, an' such,
With County Council schemes, look proper;
When they too 'ard poor pockets touch
On them the poor must put a stopper.
Fust we 'ave got to live, I say;
To pay our way, and grub our young 'uns.