So I jest slung my 'ook like a shot and came here for a bite and a blow.
I'm as red as a bloomin' tomarter already, and talk about stodge!
Jest you arsk the old mivvey as caters for me at the crib where I lodge.
Number Seventeen, Paragon Place, is my diggings, mate, floor Number Three,
From the right'and bow-winder's off-corner you ketch a side-squint of the sea.
White stucco and hemerald sun-blinds, trailed up with a fine "Glory" rose,
And a slavey as pooty as pie, if it weren't for the smuts on her nose.
Oh, I'm up to the knocker, I tell yer; fresh 'errins for breakfast, old pal,
Bottled beer by the bucket, prime 'bacca, and oh, such a scrumptious young gal!
Picked 'er up on the pier, mate, permiskus, last Wensday as ever was. Whew!