 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Yes, ma'am! no, ma'am!
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
We called him Joe, ma'am;
Eighteen—
My name's Cregeen—
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
Had to go, ma'am
Faver? aye;
Young to die;
Eighteen for spring.
(Chorus of sympathisers) “Poor thing! poor thing!”
We called him Joe, ma'am;
Eighteen—
My name's Cregeen—
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
Had to go, ma'am
Faver? aye;
Young to die;
Eighteen for spring.
(Chorus of sympathisers) “Poor thing! poor thing!”
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
I'm rather low, ma'am—
Bombay—
Not at say.
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
Just so, ma'am,
Clane groun',
And the Pazon in his gown;
No stone, just marks.
(Chorus as before) “She's thinkin' of these sharks.”
I'm rather low, ma'am—
Bombay—
Not at say.
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
Just so, ma'am,
21
And the Pazon in his gown;
No stone, just marks.
(Chorus as before) “She's thinkin' of these sharks.”
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am,
Not like home, ma'am—
The clothes he died in
The corp was plied in.
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
But just to sew, ma'am,
Something sof',
Plazed enough,
But couldn' be—
(Chorus as before) “My chree! my chree!”
Not like home, ma'am—
The clothes he died in
The corp was plied in.
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am;
But just to sew, ma'am,
Something sof',
Plazed enough,
But couldn' be—
(Chorus as before) “My chree! my chree!”
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am,
We were callin' him Joe, ma'am—
His chiss come,
Not like to some;
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am,
Come by Crow, ma'am,
From Liverpool:
And, of a rule,
Not amiss.
(Chorus as before) “She's got his chiss! she's got his chiss!”
We were callin' him Joe, ma'am—
His chiss come,
Not like to some;
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am,
Come by Crow, ma'am,
From Liverpool:
And, of a rule,
Not amiss.
(Chorus as before) “She's got his chiss! she's got his chiss!”
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am,
These feerns will grow, ma'am,
So I'm tould.
But I'm makin' very bould.
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am—
Rather slow, ma'am,
Is this coach;
But I hope I don't encroach—
In my head the pain's.
(Chorus as before) “In her heart she manes.”
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am.
These feerns will grow, ma'am,
So I'm tould.
But I'm makin' very bould.
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am—
Rather slow, ma'am,
Is this coach;
But I hope I don't encroach—
In my head the pain's.
(Chorus as before) “In her heart she manes.”
Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |