Can you wonder that poor Slum-birds is give o'er to Dirt and Drink.
Ah! them two D's goes together. Just you plant some orty Queen
In a rookery, in her kidhood, and then tell her to keep clean,
Wash 'er face, and mend 'er garments,—wich they're mostly sewed-up rags,—
In six months she'd be a scare-crow, 'ands like sut, and 'air all jags.
Wot yer washups don't quite tumble to's the fack as like breeds like.
If you would himprove Slum-dwellers, at the Slum you fust must strike.
Give us small dark 'oles to dwell in, and you must be jolly green
If you think folks bred in dirt like, are a-going to keep 'em clean.
When the sewer-rats take to sweetening and lime-washing their foul 'oles,