 | English Roses |  |
GOÜN TO THE DAWGS.
There is Jerry round the carner
With his sassages and horl,
And the Ragmon and his garner—
For they pickuns beant smorl.
Thar's the Dorkter with his coffin
That he fills with payritch boans,
Which I reckins is as offin
As them wants to lay the stoans.
Them is horl for milk and 'unny
And more vittuls and fine tawgs,
While it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
With his sassages and horl,
And the Ragmon and his garner—
For they pickuns beant smorl.
Thar's the Dorkter with his coffin
That he fills with payritch boans,
Which I reckins is as offin
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Them is horl for milk and 'unny
And more vittuls and fine tawgs,
While it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
Thar's the Parson with his texties,
Which be good enough for moast;
But his first, whate'er the next is,
Be the best of buttered toast.
And the Kewrut e's a korshun
Not unlike the Fatted Karf,
And 'e gets a looshus porshun
While hus oanly has the charf.
O, the gayum might still be funny
If hus lived as some on frawgs,
But its munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
Which be good enough for moast;
But his first, whate'er the next is,
Be the best of buttered toast.
And the Kewrut e's a korshun
Not unlike the Fatted Karf,
And 'e gets a looshus porshun
While hus oanly has the charf.
O, the gayum might still be funny
If hus lived as some on frawgs,
But its munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
Thar's the landlord, and the new uns
Aint no better nor the ould,
With their scrapuns and their screwuns
And their everlastun hould;
Orl a bleedun yer on pay day
Just with nuthun else to do,
As if arth had lost its May-day
In black winter through and through.
Aye, thar's nort now sweet and sunny
And no ile about the cawgs,
For it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
Aint no better nor the ould,
With their scrapuns and their screwuns
And their everlastun hould;
Orl a bleedun yer on pay day
Just with nuthun else to do,
As if arth had lost its May-day
In black winter through and through.
Aye, thar's nort now sweet and sunny
And no ile about the cawgs,
For it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
And the Boss 'e tries his squeedges,
For 'e mun be mayster still;
And the mon would riz the weedges,
With a 'and uporn the Till.
So between 'em boath they throttul
Hour pore Trade till it be broak,
And hus keep the empty bottul
While the Torkers 'as the soak.
If un poach a 'are or bunny,
It means rollun prison lawgs;
For it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
For 'e mun be mayster still;
And the mon would riz the weedges,
With a 'and uporn the Till.
So between 'em boath they throttul
Hour pore Trade till it be broak,
And hus keep the empty bottul
While the Torkers 'as the soak.
If un poach a 'are or bunny,
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For it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the dawgs.
Ah, they sez as orl be brothers,
And jist eekals befoor Gawd;
But the Lor, it cooms and mothers
Hus and fathers with the rawd.
It's palaver and fine wishus
For the bearer of the blarst,
While the foremost grabs the dishus
And the Divil grabs the larst.
So yer sees our lot, my sonny,
Be a wusser nor the hawgs;
For it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the Dawgs.
And jist eekals befoor Gawd;
But the Lor, it cooms and mothers
Hus and fathers with the rawd.
It's palaver and fine wishus
For the bearer of the blarst,
While the foremost grabs the dishus
And the Divil grabs the larst.
So yer sees our lot, my sonny,
Be a wusser nor the hawgs;
For it's munny, munny, munny—
Hus be goün to the Dawgs.
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