The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke | Page 2

in the nest,?The parks an' gardings is a bosker sight,?Where smilin' tarts walks up an' down, all dressed?In clobber white.?An', as their snowy forms goes steppin' by,?It seems I'm seekin' somethin' on the sly.
Somethin' or someone--I don't rightly know;?But, seems to me, I'm kind er lookin' for?A tart I knoo a 'undred years ago,?Or, maybe, more.?Wot's this I've 'eard them call that thing?...Geewhizz!?Me ideel bit o' skirt! That's wot it is!
Me ideel tart!... An', bli'me, look at me!?Jist take a squiz at this, an' tell me can?Some square an' honist tom take this to be?'Er own true man??Aw, Gawd! I'd be as true to 'er, I would?As straight an' stiddy as...Ar, wot's the good?
Me, that 'as done me stretch fer stoushin' Johns,?An' spen's me leisure gittin' on the shick,?An' 'arf me nights down there, in Little Lon.,?Wiv Ginger Mick,?Jist 'eadin' 'em, an' doing in me gilt.?Tough luck! I s'pose it's 'ow a man is built.
It's 'ow Gawd builds a bloke; but don't it 'urt?When 'e gits yearnin's fer this 'igher life,?On these Spring mornin's, watchin' some sweet skirt?Some fucher wife--?Go sailin' by, an' turnin' on his phiz?The glarssy eye--fer bein' wot 'e is.
I've watched 'em walkin' in the gardings 'ere?Cliners from orfices an' shops an' such;?The sorter skirts I dursn't come too near,?Or dare to touch.?An, when I see the kind er looks they carst...?Gorstrooth! Wot is the use o' me, I arst?
Wot wus I slung 'ere for? An wot's the good?Of yearnin' after any ideel tart?...?Ar, if a bloke wus only understood!?'E's got a 'eart:?'E's got a soul inside 'im, poor or rich.?But wot's the use, when 'Eaven's crool'd 'is pitch?
I tells meself some day I'll take a pull?An' look eround fer some good, stiddy job,?An' cut the push fer good an' all; I'm full?Of that crook mob!?An', in some Spring the fucher 'olds in store,?I'll cop me prize an' long in vain no more.
The little winds is stirrin' in the trees,?Where little birds is chantin' lovers' lays;?The music of the sorft an' barmy breeze...?Aw, spare me days!?If this 'ere dilly feelin' doesn't stop?I'll lose me block an' stoush some flamin' cop!
II. The Intro
'Er name's Doreen ...Well spare me bloomin' days!?You could er knocked me down wiv 'arf a brick!?Yes, me, that kids meself I know their ways,?An' 'as a name for smoogin' in our click!?I just lines up an' tips the saucy wink.?But strike! The way she piled on dawg! Yer'd think?A bloke was givin' back-chat to the Queen....?'Er name's Doreen.
I seen 'er in the markit first uv all,?Inspectin' brums at Steeny Isaacs' stall.?I backs me barrer in--the same ole way--?An' sez, "Wot O! It's been a bonzer day.?'Ow is it fer a walk?"...Oh, 'oly wars!?The sorter look she gimme! Jest becors?I tried to chat 'er, like you'd make a start?Wiv ANY tart.
An' I kin take me oaf I wus perlite.?An' never said no word that wasn't right,?An' never tried to maul 'er, or to do?A thing yeh might call crook. Ter tell yeh true,?I didn't seem to 'ave the nerve--wiv 'er.?I felt as if I couldn't go that fur,?An' start to sling off chiack like I used...?Not INTRAJUICED!
Nex' time I sighted 'er in Little Bourke,?Where she was in a job. I found'er lurk?Wus pastin' labels in a pickle joint,?A game that--any'ow, that ain't the point.?Once more I tried ter chat 'er in the street,?But, bli'me! Did she turn me down a treat!?The way she tossed 'er 'cad an' swished 'er skirt!?Oh, it wus dirt!
A squarer tom, I swear, I never seen,?In all me natchril, than this 'ere Doreen.?It wer'n't no guyver neither; fer I knoo?That any other bloke 'ad Buckley's 'oo?Tried fer to pick 'er up. Yes, she was square.?She jist sailed by an' lef' me standin' there?Like any mug. Thinks I, "I'm out er luck,"?An' done a duck
Well, I dunno. It's that way wiv a bloke.?If she'd ha' breasted up ter me an' spoke,?I'd thort 'er jist a commin bit er fluff,?An' then fergot about 'er, like enough.?It's jest like this. The tarts that's 'ard ter get?Makes you all 'ot to chase 'em, an' to let?The cove called Cupid get an 'ammer-lock;?An' lose yer block.
I know a bloke 'oo knows a bloke 'oo toils?In that same pickle found-ery. ('E boils?The cabbitch storks or somethink.) Anyway,?I gives me pal the orfis fer to say?'E 'as a sister in the trade 'oo's been?Out uv a jorb, an' wants ter meet Doreen;?Then we kin get an intro, if we've luck.?'E sez, "Ribuck."
O' course we worked the oricle; you bet!?But, 'struth, I ain't recovered frum it yet!?'Twas on a Saturdee, in Colluns Street,?An'--quite by accident, o' course--we meet.?Me pal 'e trots 'er up an' does the toff?'E allus wus a bloke fer showin' off.?"This 'ere's Doreen," 'e sez. "This 'ere's the Kid."?I dips me lid.
"This 'ere's Doreen," 'e sez. I