The Lingothatweuze
I metabloke in Collun-street
A cove I yustano
When I wus workin Southoss,
A yeerertwo ago.
Sezzi, 'Well, owye kumminup?
I spose yehnomee still?'
'E grabsme betha 'andansiz,
'W'y owsheegoinbil?'
'Well, wotchadoinow?' sizzi,
Alludin' to 'is work.
'I aven gotakop,' sezee,
'At presen'. Wot's your lurk?'
'I'm upagenit pritty bad,
An' lookin' furra job,'
I answers. Then I bytsiz lug:
'Say, kinyeh lensa bob?'
'E anzitover. Then Isiz,
'Well, wotsbekumaflo?'
Referrin' to a tartuviz
But eesiz, 'Idunno.
'She yusta gimmelip,' eesiz,
'Anso we ata paht.
Ixceptin fere mag,' eesiz,
'Shewuza boshtataht.'
'Shewuz orright piece,' sizzi,
'Althoer tongue wus free.'
An then I springsa traponim:
'I seener yestadee.'
'Gostrooth!' sizee. 'I didunno
Thet shewuz ovareer!
I 'ope she izen chasinmee;
Buttit looks bloominqueer.'
'Orright,' sizzi, 'don't loosyerblock,
You'll meeter byunbye.
But she won'trubble you bekos
I've marrider,' sizzi.
'Well, sparemedays, it beatstha band
'Ow these things workeround!
But after wotcha say,' sizzee,
'I'll standja ina pound.'
'A quid's orright,' sizzi, 'but still
I dunnowota think.'
'Don't chewitover now,' sizzee,
'But cumanavadrink.'
We adabeer an' didagit;
An' I've dunnin the Quid.
Ewuza tofter giime it.
I wunnerwye edid?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Quids
The little quids, the million quids,
The everywhere, everything, always quids,
The atoms of the Monoton—
Each turned three essences where it stood
And ground a gisty dust from its neighbors' edges
Until a powdery thoughtfall stormed in and out,
The cerebration of a slippery quid enterprise.
Each quid stirred.
The united quids
Waved through a sinuous decision.
The quids, that had never done anything before
But be, be, be, be, be,
The quids resolved to predicate
And dissipate in a little grammar.
Oh, the Monoton didn't care,
For whatever they did—
The Monoton's contributing quids—
The Monoton would always remain the same.
A quid here and there gyrated in place-position,
While many essential quids turned inside-out
For the fun of it
And a few refused to be anything but
Simple, unpredicated copulatives.
Little by little, this commotion of quids,
By threes, by tens, by casual millions,
Squirming within the state of things—
The metaphysical acrobats,
The naked, immaterial quids—
Turned inside on themselves
And came out dressed,
Each similar quid of the inward same,
Each similar quid dressed in a different way—
The quid's idea of a holiday.
The quids could never tell what was happening.
But the Monoton felt itself differently the same
In its different parts.
The silly quids upon their rambling exercise
Never knew, could never tell
What their pleasure was about,
What their carnival was like,
Being in, being in, being always in
Where they never could get out
Of the everywhere, everything, always in,
To derive themselves from the Monoton.
But I know, with a quid inside of me,
But I know what a quid's disguise is like,
Being one myself,
The gymnastic device
That a quid puts on for exercise.
And so should the trees,
And so should the worms,
And so should you,
And all the other predicates,
And all the other accessories
Of the quid's masquerade.
poem by Laura Riding
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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
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To Love
If, Cupid, Heaven is your home, you
are the child of Venus, Nectar and
Ambrosia are your food, then why
do you spend days and nights with
me? Why burn me with your flame,
and quench my thirst with tears?
Why destroy me? You are indeed
descended from wild beasts. Are you
worthy of such descent and of
heaven? But I, I am merely
a shadow, why do you torture me?
Ad amorem.
Si coelum patria est puer beatum,
Si vero peperit VENUS benigna,
Si Nectar tibi Massicum ministrat;
Si sancta Ambrosia est cibus petitus,
Quid noctes habitas, diesque mecum?
Quid victum face supplicemque aduris?
Quid longam lachrimis sitim repellis?
Quid nostrae dape pasceris medullae?
O vere rabidum genus faerarum:
O domo stipe patriaque digne:
Jam levis sumus umbra, quid lacessis?
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Beef Tea
She never nagged; she never said no word;
But sat an' looked at me an' never stirred.
I could 'a' bluffed it out if she 'ad been
Fair narked, an' let me 'ave it wiv 'er tongue;
It silence told me 'ow 'er 'eart wus wrung.
Poor 'urt Doreen!
Gorstruth! I'd sooner fight wiv fifty men
Than git one look like that frum 'er agen!
She never moved; she never spoke no word;
That 'urt look in 'er eyes, like some scared bird:
' 'Ere is the man I loved,' it seemed to say.
''E's mine, this crawlin' thing, an' I'm 'is wife;
Tied up fer good; an' orl me joy in life
Is chucked away!'
If she 'ad bashed me I'd 'a' felt no 'urt!
But 'ere she treats me like—like I wus dirt.
'Ow is a man to guard agen that look?
Fer other wimmin, when the'r blokes go crook,
An' lobs 'ome wiv the wages uv a jag,
They smashes things an' carries on a treat
An' 'owls an' scolds an' wakes the bloomin' street
Wiv noisy mag.
But 'er—she never speaks; she never stirs . . .
I drops me bundle . . . An' the game is 'ers.
Jist two months wed! Eight weeks uv married bliss
Wiv my Doreen, an' now it's come to this!
Wot wus I thinkin' uv? Gawd! I ain't fit
To kiss the place 'er little feet 'as been!
'Er that I called me wife, me own Doreen!
Fond dreams 'as flit;
Love's done a bunk, an' joy is up the pole;
An' shame an' sorrer's roostin' in me soul.
'Twus orl becors uv Ginger Mick—the cow!
(I wish't I 'ad 'im 'ere to deal wiv now!
I'd pass 'im one, I would! 'E ain't no man!)
I meets 'im Choosdee ev'nin' up the town.
'Wot O,' 'e chips me. 'Kin yeh keep one down?'
I sez I can.
We 'as a couple; then meets three er four
Flash coves I useter know, an' 'as some more.
''Ow are yeh on a little gamble, Kid?'
Sez Ginger Mick. 'Lars' night I'm on four quid.
Come 'round an' try yer luck at Steeny's school.
'No,' sez me conscience. Then I thinks, 'Why not?
An' buy 'er presents if I wins a pot?
A blazin' fool
I wus. Fer 'arf a mo' I 'as a fight;
Then conscience skies the wipe . . . Sez I 'Orright.'
Ten minutes later I was back once more,
Kip in me 'and, on Steeny Isaac's floor,
Me luck was in an' I wus 'eadin' good.
Yes, back agen amongst the same old crew!
An' orl the time down in me 'eart I knew
I never should . . .
Nex' thing I knows it's after two o'clock
Two in the morning! An' I've done me block!
'Wot odds?' I thinks. 'I'm in fer it orright.'
An' so I stops an' gambles orl the night;
An' bribes me conscience wiv the gilt I wins.
But when I comes out in the cold, 'ard dawn
I know I've crooled me pitch; me soul's in pawn.
My flamin' sins
They 'its me in a 'eap right where I live;
Fer I 'ave broke the solim vow I give.
She never magged; she never said no word.
An' when I speaks, it seems she never 'eard.
I could 'a' sung a nim, I feels so gay!
If she 'ad only roused I might 'a' smiled.
She jist seems 'urt an' crushed; not even riled.
I turns away,
An' yanks me carkis out into the yard,
Like some whipped pup; an' kicks meself reel 'ard.
An' then, I sneaks to bed, an' feels dead crook.
Fer golden quids I couldn't face that look
That trouble in the eyes uv my Doreen.
Aw, strike! Wot made me go an' do this thing?
I feel jist like a chewed up bit of string,
An' rotten mean!
Fer 'arf an hour I lies there feelin' cheap;
An' then I s'pose, I muster fell asleep….
' 'Ere, Kid, drink this' . . . I wakes, an' lifts me 'ead,
An' sees 'er standin' there beside the bed;
A basin in 'er 'ands; an' in 'er eyes
(Eyes that wiv unshed tears is shinin' wet)
The sorter look I never shall ferget,
Until I dies.
' 'Ere, Kid, drink this,' she sez, an' smiles at me.
I looks — an' spare me days! It was beef tea!
Beef tea! She treats me like a hinvaleed!
Me! that 'as caused 'er lovin' 'eart to bleed.
It 'urts me worse than maggin' fer a week!
'Er! 'oo 'ad right to turn dead sour on me,
Fergives like that, an' feeds me wiv beef tea . . .
I tries to speak;
An' then — I ain't ashamed o' wot I did
I 'ides me face . . . an' blubbers like a kid.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad of the Goodly Fere
Ha' we lost the goodliest fere o' all
For the priests and the gallows tree?
Aye lover he was of brawny men,
O' ships and the open sea.
When they came wi' a host to take Our Man
His smile was good to see,
"First let these go!" quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Or I'll see ye damned," says he.
Aye he sent us out through the crossed high spears
And the scorn of his laugh rang free,
"Why took ye not me when I walked about
Alone in the town?" says he.
Oh we drank his "Hale" in the good red wine
When we last made company,
No capon priest was the Goodly Fere
But a man o' men was he.
I ha' seen him drive a hundred men
Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free,
That they took the high and holy house
For their pawn and treasury.
They'll no' get him a' in a book I think
Though they write it cunningly;
No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere
But aye loved the open sea.
If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere
They are fools to the last degree.
"I'll go to the feast," quo' our Goodly Fere,
"Though I go to the gallows tree."
"Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind,
And wake the dead," says he,
"Ye shall see one thing to master all:
'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree."
A son of God was the Goodly Fere
That bade us his brothers be.
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men.
I have seen him upon the tree.
He cried no cry when they drave the nails
And the blood gushed hot and free,
The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue
But never a cry cried he.
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men
On the hills o' Galilee,
They whined as he walked out calm between,
Wi' his eyes like the grey o' the sea,
Like the sea that brooks no voyaging
With the winds unleashed and free,
Like the sea that he cowed at Genseret
Wi' twey words spoke' suddently.
A master of men was the Goodly Fere,
A mate of the wind and sea,
If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere
They are fools eternally.
I ha' seen him eat o' the honey-comb
Sin' they nailed him to the tree.
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Proposal
Who will marry me, said the flea,
Why ever should I, said the fly,
I would willingly give you a hug, said the bug,
That would be nice, said the wood lice,
I could sit down beside her, said the spider,
Well I certainly can't, said the ant,
Well of course you can't, that's absurd, said the ladybird,
Whoever does will come a cropper, said the grasshopper,
I think one should take heed, said the centipede,
I wouldn't for a thousand quid, said the aphid,
She's got a tongue like a rasp, said the wasp,
Oh, I shall remain free, said the bee,
I think you're probably right, said the mite,
All I can say is, she's a killer, said the caterpillar,
She'll suck you dry!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Workin’ It Out
Well I've been spendin' my life lookin' for a shoulder
To rest my head when the nights get colder
But the days are gettin' longer and I'm gettin' older
Been long time workin' it out
I been a long time workin' it out I been a long time workin' it out
I been a long time workin' it out I been a long time workin' it out
Now I got a little woman to scrub my floor
Right down the road I got me two or three more
And you know none of them knows about the one next door
I been a long time workin' it out
I been a long time workin' it out...
Well it was late one night when I stole a little money
I bought a couple of things and then gave them to my honey
And the judge said boy if you this that's funny
You got a long time workin' it out
I got a long time workin' it out...
[ guitar ]
Yeah well I look all around me and what do I see
The whole wide world got trouble like me
Between the taxes the missus and the deep blue sea
You'll be a long time workin' it out
We'll be a long time workin' it out...
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Ezra on the Strike
Wal, Thanksgivin' do be comin' round.
With the price of turkeys on the bound,
And coal, by gum! Thet were just found,
Is surely gettin' cheaper.
The winds will soon begin to howl,
And winter, in its yearly growl,
Across the medders begin to prowl,
And Jack Frost gettin' deeper.
By shucks! It seems to me,
That you I orter be
Thankful, that our Ted could see
A way to operate it.
I sez to Mandy, sure, sez I,
I'll bet thet air patch o' rye
Thet he'll squash 'em by-and-by,
And he did, by cricket!
No use talkin', he's the man -
One of the best thet ever ran,
Fer didn't I turn Republican
One o' the fust?
I 'lowed as how he'd beat the rest,
But old Si Perkins, he hemmed and guessed,
And sed as how it wuzn't best
To meddle with the trust.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Simple Sister Goes To Sydney
When Flo resolved to go to town from brothers three a yell went up,
Predicting ruin and distress. Bill in his horror dropped a cup.
“Gorstruth!” he said, “in Sydney there what is a simple girl to do?
They took me down. I lost me watch and seven quid. What ‘ope for you?”
Ben turned on her in pale dismay. “Look here, me girl, ain’t you bin told
How one iv them there spieler blokes done me for twenty pound in gold?
He was as nice a gentleman as any in the blessed shops:
He got away with all I had, and took a luner at the cops.”
“Me, too,” said Dave, “that time I went to Sydney town to see the Show
One trimmed me for me bran’ new suit. You stay where we can watch you, Flo.”
Flo packed. “If spieler comes at me his finish will be sharp,” she said;
And when the boys next heard of her she’d got a bloke, and then was wed.
She wrote: “He’s rather nice, I think, and I am putting him to work.
Next Chrissmiss we are comin’ up to see yous people back o’ Bourke.”
And when he came he brought for Bill a silver watch and seven quid,
For Dave a bran’ new suit of check, a ruby tie-pin and a lid.
To Ben he handed twenty pounds, in nice new minted sovereigns, too.
And still the brothers gaped at him, and still their great amazement grew.
He was a natty kind of chap, with gentle manners, small and slim.
And when they spoke ‘twas as one man. “So ‘elp me cat,” they said, “it’s ‘im!”
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Ad Quintium. Cat. Ep. 83
AD QUINTIUM. CAT. EP. 83.
Quinti, si tibi vis oculos debere Catullum,
Aut aliud si quid carius est oculis,
Eripere ei noli, multo quod carius illi
Est oculis, seu quid carius est oculis.
TO QUINTIUS.
Quintius, if you'l endear Catullus eyes,
Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize,
Ravish not what is dearer then his eyes,
Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Old Joe was Bingo mad
I once knew a bloke called Joe
who was addicted to playing Bingo
he played nearly every day of his life
which cost him his marriage and his wife.
But Joe just could never pack it in
even though he hardly ever did win
as soon as he got out of his bed
the thought of Bingo came into his head.
The biggest win he ever had was sixty quid
and even then he shared it with his pal Sid
but Joe said one day he'd win the jackpot
and then he'd go and live somewhere hot.
But his long suffering wife called Flo
said she'd had enough of his silly Bingo
she shouted to Joe so what's it going to be,
your stupid addiction to playing Bingo or me?
But sadly Joe was now too far gone to care
when Bingo was on he just had to be there.
But alas Joe never won the Bingo jackpot
and he never ended living somewhere hot
the most he won was that sixty quid
and even worse Flo went off with his mate Sid.
I heard that Joe passed away playing Bingo
but I know that's how he would have wanted to go
I bet old Joe died with a smile on his face
because at least to Joe he was in the right place!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Economy
"There's nothing like economy,"
I heard a chap remark,
Who, judging by his tout ensemble,
Had issued from the ark.
He was a most peculiar man,
With visage wan and thin,
And liquid drops of amber hue
A-trickling down his chin.
"They tell us it's extravagant,"
He added with a shrug,
As he deposited a quid
Within his spacious "mug," —
"They tell us it's extravagant,
This ' chewing of the weed;'
But only use ' economy,'
You'll never be in need.
"And this is how to practise it:
Chew your tobacco well,
Using a little at a time,—
It nat'rally will swell;
"Then take the quid and dry it, sir!"—
'Twas thus the fellow spoke,—
"And, when you want a quiet whiff,
Put in your pipe, and smoke.
"And, stranger, after doing this,
If you are fond of snuff,
The ashes that are left behind
Will serve you well enough.
"And thus," said this peculiar man
(I fear he did but joke,)
"If you will follow my advice,
It will not end in smoke."
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wotcha Gonna Do
Written by ricki, kim & marty wilde
I couldnt believe what I read when I got your letter
Said you needed to take some time to work out your life, yeah
Well, its easy for you to just go off and do what you want
Any time you please
Dont expect me to wait
If you leave its too late
Youre gonna have to crawl back on your knees
Wotcha gonna do when it gets so lonely
When youre down and so far away from home
How ya gonna feel, you know it wont get better
Cos youve made your bed so you can lie in it on your own
Wotcha gonna do
I knew youd been feeling the need to just change direction
But I didnt know you were gonna walk away from me, no
Now youre out on your own cos you think youve outgrown
All the things that you left behind
But its crazy to see
Cos you know without me
Youre gonna end up losing more than you find
Wotcha gonna do when it gets so lonely
When youre down and so far away from home
How ya gonna feel, you know it wont get better
Cos youve made your bed so you can lie in it on your own
Yeah, yeah
Now dont be a fool on yourself
Cos youve got so much to lose
And I really love you baby
Dont you know that I do, yeah
How ya gonna feel, you know it wont get better
Now youre down and so far away
Now youre down and so far away
Now youre down and so far away from home
Wotcha gonna do
How ya gonna feel
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work
Writers: leo sayer, tom snow & john vastano
Five days out of seven
Eight hours of every one
Im tryin to buy a piece of heaven
But Ill be gone
Before that heaven comes
Work, work, work
Who nees it?
Its all I ever seem to do
Im killin myself for a livin
Livin the workin mans blues
Minute to minute
Day after day
Wherever I go its always the same
I work a little longer
To make up my pay
But when the cheque comes along
Theyve taken half of it away
All the work, work, work
Who nees it?
All I ever seem to do
You know Im killin myself for a livin
I should be stayin at home with you
City to city
All over the world
Wherever I been to -- thats all I ever heard
You work a little longer
To double up on that pay
When the taxman comes along
They take half of it away
Work, work, work
Who nees it?
Its all I ever seem to do
Im killin, killin time for a livin
Livin the workin mans blues
Yeah, its all work! work! work! work!
Thats all it is
Killin myself for a livin
Like drivin a nail straight into my hand
Ive been workin my life away
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Workin For A Livin
Chris hayes / huey lewis
Somedays wont end ever and somedays pass on by,
Ill be working here forever, at least until I die.
Dammed if you do, dammed if you dont
Im supposed to get a raise week, you know damn well I wont.
Workin for a livin (workin)
Workin for a livin (workin)
Workin for a livin, livin and workin
Im taking what they giving cause Im working for a livin.
Hey Im not complaining cause I really need the work
Hitting up my buddys got me feeling like a jerk
Hundred dollar car note, two hundred rent.
I get a check on friday, but its all ready spent.
Workin for a livin (workin)
Workin for a livin (workin)
Workin for a livin, livin and workin
Im taking what they giving cause Im working for a livin.
Ooh, workin for a livin
Ooh, taking what they giving
Ooh, workin for a livin
Ooh, ooh
Bus boy, bartender, ladies of the night
Grease monkey, ex-junky, winner of the fight
Walking on the streets its really all the same
Selling souls, rock n roll, any other day
Workin for a livin (workin)
Workin for a livin (workin)
Workin for a livin, livin and workin
Im taking what they giving cause Im working for a livin.
Workin for a livin, livin and workin
Im taking what they giving cause Im working for a livin.
Workin for a livin, livin and workin
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Acting for me is not that quid pro quo.
quote by Tom Wilkinson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I mean, I wouldn't pay more than a couple of quid to see me, and I'm me.
quote by Terry Prachett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hard Luck
I left the course, and by my side
There walked a ruined tout --
A hungry creature, evil-eyed,
Who poured this story out.
"You see," he said, "there came a swell
To Kensington today,
And, if I picked the winners well,
A crown at least he's pay.
"I picked three winners straight, I did;
I filled his purse with pelf,
And then he gave me half-a-quid
To back one for myself.
"A half-a-quid to me he cast --
I wanted it indeed;
So help me Bob, for two days past
I haven't had a feed.
"But still I thought my luck was in,
I couldn't go astray --
I put it all on Little Min,
And lost it straightaway.
"I haven't got a bite or bed,
I'm absolutely stuck;
So keep this lesson in your head:
Don't over-trust your luck!"
The folks went homeward, near and far,
The tout, oh! where is he?
Ask where the empty boilers are
Beside the Circular Quay.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Piece
Piece
I want a little piece
I want a little piece of your love
I' ve been here, I' ve been there
Seems like I' ve been everywhere
Lookin' around lookin' for a release
I'm just lookin' around
Piece
I want a little piece
I want a little piece of your love
So tell me, tell me
What 'cha gonna do
I just wanna make love to you
Piece
I want a little piece
I want a little piece of your love
Piece
I want a little piece
I want a little piece of your love
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A woman with a mask
Asks for your name
Don’t give any
She has no right
For true names
She has no face.
She is nameless.
Quid pro quo.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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