Page:The moods of Ginger Mick.djvu/111

 Rh 'Cos the fightin's too far fer to give us a grip Of the 'ell full uv slaughter an' noise, There's a breed that gives me the partic'lar pip Be the way that they torks uv the boys. O, they're coarse, an' they're rude, an' it's awful to live Wiv their cursin' an' shoutin' an' fuss. Dam it! 'Ere's to the bloke wiv the bad-lookin' chiv That 'e poked inter trouble fer us!

O, it's dead agin etikit, dead agin style Fer to swear an' to swagger an' skite; But a battle ain't won wiv a drorin'-room smile, An' yeh 'ave to be rude in a fight. An' it's bein' reel rude to enemy blokes That'll earn yeh that 'ero-like touch, -So 'ere's to the boy wiv 'is curses an' jokes 'Oo is 'oppin' about on a crutch.

Now, the Turk is a gent, an' they greets 'im as such, An' they gives doo respect to 'is Nibs; But 'e never 'eld orf to apolergise much When 'e slid 'is cold steel in their ribs. An' our boys won the name that they give 'em of late 'Cos they fought like a jugful uv crooks, So 'ere's to the bloke wiv the swaggerin' gait An' a bullet mark spoilin' 'is looks.