Page:The songs of a sentimental bloke (1917).djvu/35

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R, these is 'appy days! An' 'ow they've flown— Flown like the smoke uv some inchanted fag; Since dear Doreen, the sweetest tart I've known, Passed me the jolt that made me sky the rag. An' ev'ry golding day floats o'er a chap Like a glad dream of some celeschil scrap Refreshed wiv sleep Day to the mornin' mill Comes jauntily to out the nigger, Night. Trained to the minute, confident in skill, 'E swaggers in the East, chock-full o' skite; Then spars a bit, an' plugs Night on the point. Out go the stars; an' Day 'as jumped the joint.

The sun looks up, an' wiv a cautious stare, Like some crook keekin' o'er a winder sill To make dead cert'in everythink is square, 'E shoves 'is boko o'er an Eastern 'ill, Then rises, wiv 'is dial all a-grin, An' sez, "'Ooray! I knoo that we could win!"


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