The Bloke Wot Gits The Girls
'E passes by, each day, at ten
A bottle-shouldered yid
Wot looks as if 'e pushed a pen
An' drawes a weekly quid;
'E's always with some little lass;
(By cripes, 'e gets some pearls!)
We calls 'im, watchin' of 'em pass,
The bloke wot gits the girls.
An' strewth! it beats me outer sight
'Ow girls can stand 'im - straight!
'E don't go five-feet-two in height
Or eight-stun-two in weight;
'E couldn't swing a pick, - or scrap,
Soft 'ands an' sheeny curls!
'E's just a sorter - well, mishap,
The Bloke wot gits the girls.
But yet each day some bit o' fluff
Trips by, with this 'ere fraud,
A-breathin'-in 'is silly guff
As if 'e wos a gawd.
'E shoots 'is cuffs, 'e swings 'is canes,
'Is spiky mo 'e twirls,
'E seems to mesmerise the Janes,
The bloke wot gits the girls!
Well, tarts is tarts - it's 'ow they're built:
I s'pose their gawd is clo'es;
But 'im - the puffed-up piece o' gilt,
I'd like to punch 'is nose!
A-struttin', starin' round about
As if 'is kind was earls!
Cripes! 'Ow I'd like to pass 'im out
The bloke wot gits the girls!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Spring Song
The world 'as got me snouted jist a treat;
Crool Forchin's dirty left 'as smote me soul;
An' all them joys o' life I 'eld so sweet
Is up the pole.
Fer, as the poit sez, me 'eart 'as got
The pip wiv yearnin' fer -- I dunno wot.
I'm crook; me name is Mud; I've done me dash;
Me flamin' spirit's got the flamin' 'ump!
I'm longin' to let loose on somethin' rash....
Aw, I'm a chump!
I know it; but this blimed ole Springtime craze
Fair outs me, on these dilly, silly days.
The young green leaves is shootin' on the trees,
The air is like a long, cool swig o' beer,
The bonzer smell o' flow'rs is on the breeze
An 'ere's me, 'ere,
Jist mooching around like some pore, barmy coot,
Of 'ope, an' joy, an' forchin destichoot.
I've lorst me former joy in gettin' shick,
Or 'eadin' browns; I 'aven't got the 'eart
To word a tom; an' square an' all, I'm sick
Of that cheap tart
'Oo chucks 'er carcis at a feller's 'head
An' mauls 'im ... Ar! I wish't that I wus dead!...
Ther's little breezes stirrin' in the leaves,
An sparrers chirpin' 'igh the 'ole day long;
An 'on the air a sad, sweet music breaves
A bonzer song --
A mournful sorter choon thet gits a bloke
Fair in the brisket 'ere, an' makes 'im choke...
What is the matter wiv me? ... I dunno.
I got a sorter yearning 'ere inside,
A dead-crook sorter thing that won't let go
Or be denied --
A feelin' I want to do a break,
An' stoush creation for some woman's sake.
The little birds is chirpin' 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' something 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 getting on the shick,
An' 'arf me nights down there in Little Lon.,
Wiv Ginger Mick,
Jist 'eading '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 -- fere 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 ...
Gorstooth! 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 around 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!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bottle 'O
I ain't the kind of bloke as takes to any steady job;
I drives me bottle cart around the town;
A bloke what keeps 'is eyes about can always make a bob --
I couldn't bear to graft for every brown.
There's lots of handy things about in everybody's yard,
There's cocks and hens a-runnin' to an' fro,
And little dogs what comes and barks -- we take 'em off their guard
And we puts 'em with the Empty Bottle-O!
Chorus --
So it's any "Empty bottles! Any empty bottle-O!"
You can hear us round for half a mile or so
And you'll see the women rushing
To take in the Monday's washing
When they 'ear us crying, "Empty Bottle-O!"
I'm driving down by Wexford-street and up a winder goes,
A girl sticks out 'er 'ead and looks at me,
An all-right tart with ginger 'air, and freckles on 'er nose;
I stops the cart and walks across to see.
"There ain't no bottles 'ere," says she, "since father took the pledge,"
"No bottles 'ere," says I, "I'd like to know
What right 'ave you to stick your 'ead outside the winder ledge,
If you 'aven't got no Empty Bottle-O!"
I sometimes gives the 'orse a spell, and then the push and me
We takes a little trip to Chowder Bay.
Oh! ain't it nice the 'ole day long a-gazin' at the sea
And a-hidin' of the tanglefoot away.
But when the booze gits 'old of us, and fellows starts to "scrap",
There's some what likes blue-metal for to throw:
But as for me, I always says for layin' out a "trap"
There's nothing like an Empty Bottle-O!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Plus Size
Are u a plus size girl?
Now dun be mad, girl
Just stating a fact, girl
Not that you overeat, girl
Sometimes it could be, girl
A medical condition, girl
Stuck in that position, girls
Being a woman, girls
Juggling career, family, girls
Going into menopause, girls
Can play havoc, girls
To our weight, girls
Hormones at play, girls
Or lack of it, girls
Plus size is in, girls
Throw the diet in the bin, girls
Sexy curves, girls
See Mad Men, girls
See Marilyn Monroe, girls
See Adele, girls
See dropp Dead Diva, girls
See Glee, girls
Watching diet's a pain, girls
So what if we gain, girls
Nobody, nobody but you, girls
Decides what you, girls
Want to be and do, girls
Key is Attitude, girls
Be cool. Peace out!
How Do You Talk To Girls
Well Im sick of hanging out on the street
Every saturday night with the boys
Listening to the radios big beat
We crank it just to hear the noise
Yeah we talk about the girls, girls, girls
And we talk, talk, talk all night
Sure were all romeos and casanovas
But we cant seem to get it right
Seems Im making it harder and harder
While everybody else is doing well
I get confused by their bodies
I get tangled in their curls
How do you talk to girls
How do you talk to girls
Whats a poor boy to do
Tell me how do you talk to girls?
How do you talk to girls?
I see this girl over there right away
Im trying to think of something to say
Well I think Ill have one more drink
Ill be ready to make my play
But this guy moves in and he talks to her
And she nods her head
Well Im used to missing out on the girl
But I want to know what he said
Seems Im making it harder and harder
While everybody else is doing well
I get confused by their bodies
I get tangled in their curls
How do you talk to girls?
How do you talk to girls?
Whats a poor boy to do
Im tangled up in their curls
How do you talk to girls?
How do you talk to girls?
Out of wisdom and out of pearls
Tell me how do you talk to girls
Am I stupid or misunderstood
Id say something clever if I only could
Were only ten feet apart
But it feels like the world
How do you talk to girls?
How do you talk to girls?
Out of wisdom and out of pearls
Tell me how do you talk to girls
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Green Gits Back In The Trees
In spring, when the green gits back in the trees,
And the sun comes out and stays,
And yer boots pulls on with a good tight squeeze,
And you think of yer barefoot days;
When you ort to work and you want to not,
And you and yer wife agrees
It's time to spade up the garden lot,
When the green gits back in the trees--
Well! work is the least o' _my_ idees
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!
When the green gits back in the trees, and bees
Is a-buzzin' aroun' agin,
In that kind of a lazy go-as-you-please
Old gait they bum roun' in;
When the groun's all bald where the hay-rick stood,
And the crick 's riz, and the breeze
Coaxes the bloom in the old dogwood,
And the green gits back in the trees,--
I like, as I say, in sich scenes as these,
The time when the green gits back in the trees!
When the whole tail-feathers o' wintertime
Is all pulled out and gone!
And the sap it thaws and begins to climb,
And the sweat it starts out on
A feller's forred, a-gittin' down
At the old spring on his knees--
I kind o' like jes' a-loaferin' roun'
When the green gits back in the trees--
Jes' a-potterin' roun' as I--durn--please--
When the green, you know, gits back in the trees!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Girls Want To Be With Girls
The girls don't want to play like that,
They just want to talk to the boys.
The just want to do what is in their hearts,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
(CHORUS)
And the boys say, "What do you mean?"
And the boys say, "What do you mean?"
Well there is just no love,
When there's boys and girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
Girls want things that make common sense,
The best for all concerned.
They don't want to have to go out of their way,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
(CHORUS)
And the boys say, "What do you mean?"
And the boys say, "What do you mean?"
Well there is just no love,
When there's boys and girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
Girls are getting into abstract analysis,
They want to make intuitive leap.
They are making plans that have far reaching effects.
And the girls want to be with the girls.
(CHORUS)
And the boys say, "What do you mean?"
And the boys say, "What do you mean?"
Well there is just no love,
When there's boys and girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls.
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girls! Girls! Girls!
(words & music by jerry leiber - mike stoller)
Girls, goin swimming,
Girl, in bikinis,
A walkin and wigglin by, yay, yay, yay
Girls, on the beaches,
Girls, oh, what a peaches,
So pretty, lord I could cry
Im just a red blooded boy
And I cant stop thinkin about
Girls, sailin sailboats,
Girls, water skiin,
Theyll drive me out of my mind, yay, yay, yay
Girls, big and brassy,
Girls, small and sassy,
Just give me one of each kind
Im just a red blooded boy
And I cant stop thinkin about
Girls! girls! girls! girls!
And when I pick up a sandwich too much
A crunchy crunchety
A crunchety crunch
I never ever get to finish my lunch
Because theres always bound to be a bunch of
Girls, in tight sweaters,
Girls, in short dresses,
A walkin and wigglin by, yay, yay, yay
Girls, out boatin
Girls, just a floatin
So pretty, lord I could cry.
Im just a red blooded boy
And I cant stop thinkin about
Girls! girls! girls! girls! girls! girls!
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Girls Want To Be With The Girls
The girls dont want to play like that,
They just want to talk to the boys.
The just want to do what is in their hearts,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
(chorus)
And the boys say, what do you mean?
And the boys say, what do you mean?
Well there is just no love,
When theres boys and girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
Girls want things that make common sense,
The best for all concerned.
They dont want to have to go out of their way,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
(chorus)
And the boys say, what do you mean?
And the boys say, what do you mean?
Well there is just no love,
When theres boys and girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls,
And the girls want to be with the girls.
Girls are getting into abstract analysis,
They want to make intuitive leap.
They are making plans that have far reaching effects.
And the girls want to be with the girls.
(chorus)
And the boys say, what do you mean?
And the boys say, what do you mean?
Well there is just no love,
When theres boys and girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls.
And the girls want to be with the girls.
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good Girls Go To Heaven
Some girls do some girls don't
Don't mean type don't mean smoke
Lay me down can't seem to sleep
My mind's been thinkin' real deep
(bridge 1)
All my thoughts are runnin wild out of control-outta my mind
(chorus)
'cause good girls go to heaven bad girls go everywhere
If i had my choice of women
I'd pick the ones that'd go anywhere
All good girls they go to heaven
All bad girls go everywhere they like
Late at night when she comes out
The lady moves prowls the town
A perfect match of looks and charm
Where she goes it's light and dark
She's so hot i burn my tongue when i kiss her lips she turns me on
Good girls go to heaven
Bad girls go everywhere
If i had my choice of women
I'd pick the ones that'd go anywhere
All good girls they go to heaven
All bad girls go everywhere they like
(solo)
Made my choice made it well had my pick of heaven or
Good girls go to heaven bad girls go everywhere
If i had my choice of women i'd pick the ones that'd go anywhere
All good girls they go to heaven all bad girls go everywhere they like
Good girls they've got manners bad girls got what matters
Good girls leave at home bad girls come with the singer
Good girls go to heaven bad girls go everywhere that they like
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girls
Some girls got it some girls dont
Some girls do it some girls wont
Some girls want to run your life
Some want to sink your boat
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Make you break you girls dont care
Wake you shake you get you there
Some girls like to play it cool
Some like to kiss and tell
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Its not new but its gotta be faced
A man can be turned by a pretty face
Cant live with them
Cant live without them
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls in movies girls in space
Girls on t.v. girls that race
Some girls want to tie you down
Some girls dont want to know
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Its not true but its gotta be faced
A man can be turned by a pretty face
Cant live with them
Cant live without them
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Some girls got it some girls dont
Some girls do it some girls wont
Some girls want to run your life
Some want to sink your boat
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet girls
Girls- sweet sweet sweet girls
(mccafferty,agnew,charlton,sweet)
Copyright 1989 m.a.c.s. music
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sling It!
Blimey! Ain't it gittin' tough?
Life gits 'arder day by day.
First a bloke ain't got enough
Words for wot 'e wants to say;
Then some nark; with nix to do,
Cuts vocab'laries in two.
'Ow can coots ixpress their souls?
Many a noble song is sung
By crook lips; an' music rolls
Off full many a slangy tongue.
Many a word o' wisdom's spoke
By some reel dead leery bloke.
Still in all, I gotter own,
If pure lingo we would teach,
Young kids' minds 'ad best be sown
With some dinkum slabs of speech.
Shove this matter in each book:
'Sling the slang; it's all dead crook.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Girls Go To Heaven (Bad Girls Go Everywhere)
Some girls do some girls dont
Dont mean type dont mean smoke
Lay me down cant seem to sleep
My minds been thinkin real deep
(bridge 1)
All my thoughts are runnin wild out of control-outta my mind
(chorus)
cause good girls go to heaven bad girls go everywhere
If I had my choice of women
Id pick the ones thatd go anywhere
All good girls they go to heaven
All bad girls go everywhere they like
Late at night when she comes out
The lady moves prowls the town
A perfect match of looks and charm
Where she goes its light and dark
Shes so hot I burn my tongue when I kiss her lips she turns me on
Good girls go to heaven
Bad girls go everywhere
If I had my choice of women
Id pick the ones thatd go anywhere
All good girls they go to heaven
All bad girls go everywhere they like
(solo)
Made my choice made it well had my pick of heaven or
Good girls go to heaven bad girls go everywhere
If I had my choice of women Id pick the ones thatd go anywhere
All good girls they go to heaven all bad girls go everywhere they like
Good girls theyve got manners bad girls got what matters
Good girls leave at home bad girls come with the singer
Good girls go to heaven bad girls go everywhere that they like
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girls On The Beach
Ah ah ah ah oo ooo ooo oo ahh
The girls on the beach
On the beach youll find them there
In the sun and salty air
The girls on the beach
Are all within reach
If you know what to do
How we love to lie around
Girls with tans of golden brown
The girls on the beach
Are all within reach
And one waits there for you
(girls on the beach)
The sun in her hair
The warmth of the air
On a summer day
As the sun dips out of sight
Couples on the beach at night
The girls on the beach
Are all within reach
And with the boys tonight
(girls on the beach)
Girls on the beach, girls on the beach
Girls on the beach, girls on the beach
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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California Girls
Well east coast girls are hip
I really dig those styles they wear
And the southern girls with the way they talk
They knock me out when Im down there
The mid-west farmers daughters really make you feel alright
And the northern girls with the way they kiss
They keep their boyfriends warm at night
I wish they all could be california
I wish they all could be california
I wish they all could be california girls
The west coast has the sunshine
And the girls all get so tanned
I dig a french bikini on hawaii island
Dolls by a palm tree in the sand
I been all around this great big world
And I seen all kinds of girls
Yeah, but I couldnt wait to get back in the states
Back to the cutest girls in the world
I wish they all could be california
I wish they all could be california
I wish they all could be california girls
I wish they all could be california
(girls, girls, girls yeah I dig the)
I wish they all could be california
(girls, girls, girls yeah I dig the)
I wish they all could be california
(girls, girls, girls yeah I dig the)
I wish they all could be california
(girls, girls, girls yeah I dig the)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hitched
An'—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be
Yer—wed ded—wife?— . . . O, strike me! Will I wot?
Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me!
As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: 'Righto!' I sez, 'I will.'
'I will,' I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout
Come from me bustin' 'eart—I know it did
Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,
An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
'I will,' I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid
To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid
To see this solim hitchin' up of us.
'Fer—rich-er—er—fer—poorer.' So 'e bleats.
'In—sick-ness—an'—in—'ealth,' . . . An' there I stands,
An' dunno 'arf the chatter I repeats,
Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands.
But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands
This white-'aired pilot-bloke—but gives it lip,
Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands.
'In sick-ness—an'—in—' Ar! I got the pip!
An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick,
'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out.
'I will!' 'e 'owls; an' fetches me a kick.
'Your turn to chin!' 'e tips wiv a shout.
An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout.
(Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be all 'ands!)
An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about,
Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands.
O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick!
Got up regardless fer the solim rite.
('E 'awks the bunnies when 'e toils, does Mick)
An' twice I saw 'im feelin' fer a light
To start a fag; an' trembles lest 'e might,
Thro' force o' habit like. 'E's nervis too;
That's plain, fer orl 'is air o' bluff an' skite;
An' jist as keen as me to see it thro'.
But, 'struth, the wimmnin! 'Ow they love this frill!
Fer Auntie Liz, an' Mar, o' course, wus there;
An' Mar's two uncles' wives, an' Cousin Lil,
An' 'arf a dozen more to grin and stare.
I couldn't make me 'ands fit anywhere!
I felt like I wus up afore the Beak!
But my Doreen she never turns a 'air,
Nor misses once when it's 'er turn to speak.
Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me!
It seems a blinded year afore 'e's done.
We could 'a' fixed it in the registree
Twice over 'fore this cove 'ad 'arf begun.
I s'pose the wimmin git some sorter fun
Wiv all this guyver, an 'is nibs's shirt.
But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin' bun,
This stylish splicin' uv a bloke an' skirt.
'To—be—yer—weddid—wife—' Aw, take a pull!
Wot in the 'ell's 'e think I come there for?
An' so 'e drawls an' drones until I'm full,
An' wants to do a duck clean out the door.
An' yet, fer orl 'is 'igh-falutin' jor,
Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin' bloke.
If 'twasn't fer the 'oly look 'e wore
Yeh'd think 'e piled it on jist fer a joke.
An', when at last 'e shuts 'is little book,
I 'eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest.
But 'Eavens! Now 'ere's muvver goin' crook!
An' sobbin' awful on me manly chest!
(I wish she'd give them water-works a rest.)
'My little girl!' she 'owls. 'O, treat 'er well!
She's young—too young to leave 'er muvver's nest!'
'Orright, ole chook,' I nearly sez. Oh, 'ell!
An' then we 'as a beano up at Mar's
A slap-up feed, wiv wine an' two big geese.
Doreen sits next ter me, 'er eyes like stars.
O, 'ow I wished their blessed yap would cease!
The Parson-bloke 'e speaks a little piece,
That makes me blush an' 'ang me silly 'ead.
'E sez 'e 'opes our lovin' will increase
I likes that pilot fer the things 'e said.
'E sez Doreen an' me is in a boat,
An' sailin' on the matrimonial sea.
'E sez as 'ow 'e hopes we'll allus float
In peace an' joy, from storm an' danger free.
Then muvver gits to weepin' in 'er tea;
An' Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt;
An' Cousin Lil comes 'round an' kisses me;
Until I feel I'll 'ave to do a bolt.
Then Ginger gits end-up an' makes a speech
('E'd 'ad a couple, but 'e wasn't shick.)
'My cobber 'ere,' 'e sez, ''as copped a peach!
Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick!
I 'opes 'e won't fergit 'is pals too quick
As wus 'is frien's in olden days, becors,
I'm trusting later on,' sez Ginger Mick,
'To celebrate the chris'nin'.' . . . 'Oly wars!
At last Doreen an' me we gits away,
An' leaves 'em doin' nothin' to the scram
(We're honey-moonin' down beside the Bay.)
I gives a 'arf a dollar to the man
Wot drives the cab; an' like two kids we ran
To ketch the train—Ah, strike! I could 'a' flown!
We gets the carridge right agen the van.
She whistles, jolts, an' starts . . . An' we're alone!
Doreen an' me! My precious bit o' fluff!
Me own true weddid wife! . . . An' we're alone!
She seems so frail, an' me so big an' rough
I dunno wot this feelin' is that's grown
Inside me 'ere that makes me feel I own
A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze
Too 'ard fer fear she'll break . . . Then, wiv a groan
I starts to 'ear a coot call, 'Tickets, please!'
You could 'a' outed me right on the spot!
I wus so rattled when that porter spoke.
Fer, 'struth! Them tickets I 'ad fair forgot!
But 'e fist laughs, an' takes it fer a joke.
'We must ixcuse,' 'e sez, 'new-married folk.'
An' I pays up, an' grins, an' blushes red….
It shows 'ow married life improves a bloke:
If I'd bin single I'd 'a' punched 'is head!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Some Girls
N. Chinn and M. Chapman
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Some girls will, some girls won't
Some girls need a lot of lovin' and some
girls don't
Well, I know I've got the fever but I don't
know why
Some say they will and some girls lie
So here I am in front of you
Not really knowing what to do
My heart is feeling something new
Nervously I turn away from you
I see the looks you're sending me
Is this the way it's meant to be?
It's something we should talk about
Just give me time to work it out
Some girls will, some girls won't
Some girls need a lot of lovin' and some
girls don't
Well, I know I've got the fever but I don't
know why
Some say they will and some girls lie
I find your company to be
Something completely new to me
Now that I know you socially
Obviously I'll fall heavily
I've seen those looks you're sending me
This is the way it's meant to be
There's nothing left to talk about
Oh, how I wish you'd work it out
Some girls will, some girls won't
Some girls need a lot of lovin' and some
girls don't
Well, I know I've got the fever but I don't
know why
Some say they will and some girls lie
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sentimental Bloke
An'-wilt-yeh-take-this-woman-fer-to-be
Yer-wedded-wife? -... O, strike me! Will I wot?
Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me!
As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: 'Righto! ' I sez, 'I will.'
'I will,' I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout
Come from me bustin' 'eart-I know it did-
Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,
An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
'I will,' I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid
To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid
To see this solim hitchin' up of us.
'Fer-rich-er-er-fer-poorer.' So 'e bleats.
'In-sick-ness-an'-in-'ealth,'... An' there I stands,
An' dunno 'arf the chatter I repeats,
Nor wot the 'ell to do wiv my two 'ands.
But 'e don't 'urry puttin' on our brands -
This white-'aired pilot-bloke - but gives it lip,
Dressed in 'is little shirt, wiv frills an' bands.
'In sick-ness-an'-in-' Ar! I got the pip!
An' once I missed me turn; an' Ginger Mick,
'Oo's my best-man, 'e ups an' beefs it out.
'I will! ' 'e 'owls; an' fetches me a kick.
'Your turn to chin! ' 'e tips wiv a shout.
An' there I'm standin' like a gawky lout.
(Aw, spare me! But I seemed to be all 'ands!)
An' wonders wot 'e's goin' crook about,
Wiv 'arf a mind to crack 'im where 'e stands.
O, lumme! But ole Ginger was a trick!
Got up regardless fer the solim rite.
('E 'awks the bunnies when 'e toils, does Mick)
An' twice I saw 'im feelin' fer a light
To start a fag; an' trembles lest 'e might,
Thro' force o' habit like. 'E's nervis too;
That's plain, fer orl 'is air o' bluff an' skite;
An' jist as keen as me to see it thro'.
But, 'struth, the wimmnin! 'Ow they love this frill!
Fer Auntie Liz, an' Mar, o' course, wus there;
An' Mar's two uncles' wives, an' Cousin Lil,
An' 'arf a dozen more to grin and stare.
I couldn't make me 'ands fit anywhere!
I felt like I wus up afore the Beak!
But my Doreen she never turns a 'air,
Nor misses once when it's 'er turn to speak.
Ar, strike! No more swell marridges fer me!
It seems a blinded year afore 'e's done.
We could 'a' fixed it in the registree
Twice over 'fore this cove 'ad 'arf begun.
I s'pose the wimmin git some sorter fun
Wiv all this guyver, an 'is nibs's shirt.
But, seems to me, it takes the bloomin' bun,
This stylish splicin' uv a bloke an' skirt.
'To-be-yer-weddid-wife-' Aw, take a pull!
Wot in the 'ell's 'e think I come there for?
An' so 'e drawls an' drones until I'm full,
An' wants to do a duck clean out the door.
An' yet, fer orl 'is 'igh-falutin' jor,
Ole Snowy wus a reel good-meanin' bloke.
If 'twasn't fer the 'oly look 'e wore
Yeh'd think 'e piled it on jist fer a joke.
An', when at last 'e shuts 'is little book,
I 'eaves a sigh that nearly bust me vest.
But 'Eavens! Now 'ere's muvver goin' crook!
An' sobbin' awful on me manly chest!
(I wish she'd give them water-works a rest.)
'My little girl! ' she 'owls. 'O, treat 'er well!
She's young - too young to leave 'er muvver's nest! '
'Orright, ole chook,' I nearly sez. Oh, 'ell!
An' then we 'as a beano up at Mar's -
A slap-up feed, wiv wine an' two big geese.
Doreen sits next ter me, 'er eyes like stars.
O, 'ow I wished their blessed yap would cease!
The Parson-bloke 'e speaks a little piece,
That makes me blush an' 'ang me silly 'ead.
'E sez 'e 'opes our lovin' will increase -
I likes that pilot fer the things 'e said.
'E sez Doreen an' me is in a boat,
An' sailin' on the matrimonial sea.
'E sez as 'ow 'e hopes we'll allus float
In peace an' joy, from storm an' danger free.
Then muvver gits to weepin' in 'er tea;
An' Auntie Liz sobs like a winded colt;
An' Cousin Lil comes 'round an' kisses me;
Until I feel I'll 'ave to do a bolt.
Then Ginger gits end-up an' makes a speech -
('E'd 'ad a couple, but 'e wasn't shick.)
'My cobber 'ere,' 'e sez, ''as copped a peach!
Of orl the barrer-load she is the pick!
I 'opes 'e won't fergit 'is pals too quick
As wus 'is frien's in olden days, becors,
I'm trusting later on,' sez Ginger Mick,
'To celebrate the chris'nin'.'... 'Oly wars!
At last Doreen an' me we gits away,
An' leaves 'em doin' nothin' to the scram
(We're honey-moonin' down beside the Bay.)
I gives a 'arf a dollar to the man
Wot drives the cab; an' like two kids we ran
To ketch the train - Ah, strike! I could 'a' flown!
We gets the carridge right agen the van.
She whistles, jolts, an' starts... An' we're alone!
Doreen an' me! My precious bit o' fluff!
Me own true weddid wife! ... An' we're alone!
She seems so frail, an' me so big an' rough -
I dunno wot this feelin' is that's grown
Inside me 'ere that makes me feel I own
A thing so tender like I fear to squeeze
Too 'ard fer fear she'll break... Then, wiv a groan
I starts to 'ear a coot call, 'Tickets, please! '
You could 'a' outed me right on the spot!
I wus so rattled when that porter spoke.
Fer, 'struth! Them tickets I 'ad fair forgot!
But 'e fist laughs, an' takes it fer a joke.
'We must ixcuse,' 'e sez, 'new-married folk.'
An' I pays up, an' grins, an' blushes red....
It shows 'ow married life improves a bloke:
If I'd bin single I'd 'a' punched 'is head!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Doreen
'I wish't yeh menat it, Bill.' Oh, 'ow me 'eart
Went out to 'er that evnin' on the beach.
I knew she weren't no ordinary tart,
My little peach!
To 'ear 'er voice! Its gentle sorter tone,
Like soft dream-music of some Dago band.
An' me all out; an' 'oldin' in me own
'Er little 'and.
An' 'ow she blushed! O, strike! it was divine
The way she raised 'er shinin' eyes to mine.
'Er eyes! Soft in the moon; such BOSHTER eyes!
An' when they sight a bloke…O, spare me days!
'E goes all loose inside; such glamour lies
In 'er sweet gaze.
It makes 'im all ashamed uv wot 'e's been
To look inter the eyes of my Doreen.
The wet sands glistened, an' the gleamin' moon
Shone yeller on the sea, all streakin' down.
A band was playin' some soft, dreamy choon;
An' up the town
We 'eard the distant tram-cars whir an' clash.
An' there I told Per 'ow I'd done me dash.
'I wish't yeh meant it.' 'Struth! And did I, fair?
A bloke 'ud be a dawg to kid a skirt
Like her. An' me well knowin' she was square.
It 'ud be dirt!
'E'd be no man to point wiv her, an' kid.
I meant it honest; an' she knoo I did.
She knoo. I've done me block in on her, straight.
A cove 'as got to think some time in life
An' get some decent tart, ere it's too late,
To be 'is wife.
But, Gawd! 'Oo would 'a' thort it could 'a' been
My luck to strike the likes of Per?…Doreen!
Aw, I can stand their chuckin' off, I can.
It's 'ard; an' I'd delight to take 'em on.
The dawgs! But it gets that way wiv a man
When 'e's fair gone.
She'll sight no stoush; an' so I have to take
Their mag, an' do a duck fer her sweet sake.
Fer 'er sweet sake I've gone and chucked it clean:
The pubs an' schools an' all that leery game.
Fer when a bloke 'as come to know Doreen,
It ain't the same.
There's 'igher things, she sez, for blokes to do.
An' I am 'arf believin' that it's true.
Yes, 'igher things—that wus the way she spoke;
An' when she looked at me I sorter felt
That bosker feelin' that comes o'er a bloke,
An' makes 'im melt;
Makes 'im all 'ot to maul 'er, an' to shove
'Is arms about'er…Bli'me? but it's love!
That's wot it is. An' when a man 'as grown
Like that 'e gets a sorter yearn inside
To be a little 'ero on 'is own;
An' see the pride
Glow in the eyes of 'er 'e calls 'is queen;
An' 'ear 'er say 'e is a shine champeen.
'I wish't yeh meant it,' I can 'ear 'er yet,
My bit o' fluff! The moon was shinin' bright,
Turnin' the waves all yeller where it set
A bonzer night!
The sparklin' sea all sorter gold an' green;
An' on the pier the band—O, 'Ell!… Doreen!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beautiful Girls
Whether by land, sea, or air
I know they'll be there
I know they're around the world somewhere
I know they're absolutely everywhere
The beautiful girls make their lives their own
The beautiful girls have their own personalities
The beautiful girls are the ones many men will worship
They await to worship the ground that the beautiful girls walk on
The beautiful girls are pretty and confident
The beautiful girls are sexy and strong
The beautiful girls are pure and kind
Some beautiful girls will board their airships
Some beautiful girls will walk the streets
Some beautiful girls will stay in their castles
Some beautiful girls will make their return to the sea
Swords
Guns
Daggers
Wands
Staves
Magic
Books
It's your girls adventures
It's your girls world
I consider myself lucky for being in your girls world
poem by Justin Gildow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fiduciary Friendship
'E 'ad spragged me before for the loan of a quid.
But I told 'im straight out I was broke.
Still 'e would 'ang around me, wotever I did.
'E's a regiler obstinit bloke.
'E'd tapped me for dollars an' bit me for bobs;
An' I ain't too finanshil meself.
Wot with times like they are an' not too many jobs;
So a bloke 'as to 'ang to 'is pelf.
But this Mister Theodore give me a lead
'E's a genius all on 'is own
'E put me wise yestidy - jist wot I need,
When a bloke comes along for a loan.
I rekin this Theodore's out on 'is pat
As a shrewd an' a far-seein' bloke,
Wot can 'and out the patter an' deal with a flat,
'Fore 'e's time to make up to the joke.
So today, when this cove puts the 'ard word on me,
I tells 'im straight out I'm 'is friend,
An' I'm goin' to 'elp 'im from sheer sympathy
With a few quid I'm goin' to lend.
It 'urts me, I tells 'im, to ark at 'im moan,
An' I 'aven't the 'eart to refuse.
So I gives the poor coot a fidoosary loan
In the shape of some nice I.0.U.'s.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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