The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke | Page 6

the soft green
leaves is in the bud,
'E drops 'is bundle to some fluffy thing.
'E pays
'er 'omage--an' 'is name is Mud.
She plays wiv'im an' kids 'im on a
treat,
Until she 'as 'im crawlin' at 'er feet.
An' then, when 'e's fair orf 'is top wiv love,
When she 'as got 'im good
an' 'ad 'er fun,
She slings 'im over like a carst-orf glove,
To let the
other tarts see wot she's done.
All vanity, deceit an' 'eartless kid!
I
orter known; an', spare me days, I did!

I knoo. But when I looked into 'er eyes--
Them shinin' eyes o' blue all
soft wiv love
Wiv MIMIC love--they seemed to 'ipnertize.
I wus
content to place 'er 'igh above.
I wus content to make of 'er a queen;

An' so she seemed them days...O, 'struth!...Doreen!
I knoo. But when I stroked 'er glossy 'air
Wiv rev'rint 'ands, 'er cheek
pressed close to mine,
Me lonely life seemed robbed of all its care;

I dreams me dreams, an' 'ope begun to shine.
An' when she 'eld 'er
lips fer me to kiss...
Ar, wot's the use? I'm done wiv all o' this!
Wimmin!...Oh, I ain't jealous! Spare me days!
Me? Jealous uv a
knock-kneed coot like that!
'Im! Wiv 'is cute stror 'at an' pretty ways!

I'd be a mug to squeal or whip the cat.
I'm glad, I am--glad 'cos I
know I'm free!
There ain't no call to tork o' jealousy.
I tells meself I'm well out o' the game;
Fer look, I mighter married
'er-an' then....
Ar strike! 'Er voice wus music when my name
Wus
on 'er lips on them glad ev'nin's when
We useter meet. An' then to
think she'd go...
No, I ain't jealous--but--Ar, I dunno!
I took a derry on this stror 'at coot
First time I seen 'im dodgin' round
Doreen.
'Im, wiv 'is giddy tie an' Yankee soot,
Ferever yappin' like
a tork-machine
About "The Hoffis" where 'e 'ad a grip....
The way 'e
smiled at 'er give me the pip!
She sez I stoushed 'im, when I promised fair
To chuck it, even to a
friendly spar.
Stoushed 'im! I never roughed 'is pretty 'air!
I only
spanked 'im gentle, fer 'is mar.
If I'd 'a' jabbed 'im once, there would
'a' been
An inquest; an' I sez so to Doreen.
I mighter took an' cracked 'im in the street,
When she was wiv 'im
there lars' Fridee night.
But don't I keep me temper when we met?

An' don't I raise me lid an' act perlite?
I only jerks me elbow in 'is ribs,

To give the gentle office to 'is nibs.

Stoushed 'im! I owns I met 'im on the quiet,
An' worded 'im about a
small affair;
An' when 'e won't put up 'is 'ands to fight--
('E sez,
"Fer public brawls 'e didn't care")--
I lays 'im 'cross me knee, the
mother's joy,
An' smacks 'im 'earty, like a naughty boy.
An' now Doreen she sez I've broke me vow,
An' mags about this
coot's pore, "wounded pride."
An' then, o' course, we 'as a ding-dong
row,
Wiv 'ot an' stormy words on either side.
She sez I done it outer
jealousy,
An' so, we parts fer ever--'er an' me.
Me jealous? Jealous of that cross-eyed cow!
I set 'im 'cos I couldn't
sight 'is face.
'Is yappin' fair got on me nerves, some'ow.
I couldn't
stand 'im 'angin' round 'er place.
A coot like that!...But it don't matter
much,
She's welkim to 'im if she fancies such.
I swear I'll never track wiv 'er no more;
I'll never look on 'er side o'
the street--
Unless she comes an' begs me pardin for
Them things
she said to me in angry 'eat.
She can't ixpeck fer me to smooge an'
crawl.
I ain't at ANY woman's beck an' call.
Wimmin! I've took a tumble to their game.
I've got the 'ole bang tribe
o' cliners set!
The 'ole world over they are all the same:
Crook to
the core the bunch of 'em--an' yet
We could 'a' been that 'appy, 'er an'
me...
But, wot's it matter? Ain't I glad I'm free?
A bloke wiv commin-sense 'as got to own
There's little 'appiness in
married life.
The smoogin' game is better left alone,
Fer tarts is few
that makes the ideel wife.
An' them's the sort that loves wivout
disguise,
An' thinks the sun shines in their 'usban's' eyes.
But when the birds is matin' in the spring,
An' when the tender leaves
begin to bud,
A feelin' comes--a dilly sorter thing
That seems to
sorter swamp 'im like a flood.
An' when the fever 'ere inside 'im burns,

Then freedom ain't the thing fer wot 'e yearns.

But I 'ave chucked it all. An' yet--I own
I dreams me dreams when
soft Spring breezes stirs;
An' often, when I'm moonin' 'ere alone,
A
lispin' maid, wiv 'air an' eyes like 'ers,
'Oo calls me "dad," she climbs
upon me knee,
An' yaps 'er pretty baby tork to me.
I sorter see a little 'ouse, it seems,
Wiv someone waitin' for me at the
gate...
Ar, where's the sense in dreamin' barmy dreams,
I've
dreamed before, and nearly woke too late.
Sich 'appiness could never
last fer long,
We're strangers--'less she owns