I laugh till I shake in my
socks
When I turn it on sharp on old gurls and they jump like a
Jack-in-the-box.
I give 'em Ta-ra-ra, I tell yer, and Boom-de-ray likewise, dear boy.
'Ev'n bless 'im as started that song, with that chorus,--a boon
and a joy!
Wy, the way as the werry words worrit respectables jest makes me
bust;
When you chuck it 'em as you dash by, it riles wus than the row
and the dust!
We lap up a rare lot of lotion, old man, in our spins out of town;
Pace, dust and chyike make yer chalky, and don't we just ladle it
down?
And when I'm full up, and astride, with my shoulder well over the
wheel,
And my knickerbocks pelting like pistons, I tell yer I make the
thing squeal.
My form is chin close on the 'andle, my 'at set well back on my 'ed,
And my spine fairly _'umped_ to it, CHARLIE, and then carn't I
paint the town red?
They call me "The Camel" for that, _and_ my stomach-capas'ty for
"wet."
Well, my motter is hease afore helegance. As for the liquor,--you
bet!
There's a lot of old mivvies been writing long squeals to the
_Times_ about hus.
They call us "road-tyrants" and rowdies; but, lor! it's all
fidgets and fuss.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25