I wos sent by some good ladies, wot acrost me chanced to come—
Bless their kindness!—to a 'evvin called a Convalescent 'Ome.
Phew! Wen I come back to Rats' Rents, 'ow I sickened of its smells,
Arter all them trees and 'ayfields, and them laylocks and blue-bells,
And sometimes I think—pertikler when I'm nabbed by them old pains—
Wot a proper world it might be if it weren't for dirt and drains.
Who's to blame for Dirt? Yer washups, praps it ain't for me to say,
But—I don't think there'd be much of it if 'twasn't made to pay!
Who does it pay? The Renters or the Rented? I've no doubt
When you spot who cops the Slum-swag—wy, yer won't be so fur out!