I've lost my pal, 'e's the best in all the tahn But don't you fink 'im dead becos ‘e ain't But since ‘es wed ‘e as ‘ad ter knuckle dahn Its enufter vex the temper of a saint ‘E's a brewer's dray-man, wiva leg of mutton fist ‘An as strong as a bullick or an ‘orse Yet in ‘er ‘ands e's like a little kid Oh I wish as I could get ‘im a divorce.
Chorus: It's a great big shame And if she belonged to me I'd let her know who's who Nagging at a fellow that is six foot three And her not four feet two. They hadn't been married for a month or more When underneath her thumb goes Jim Oh isn't it a pity that the likes of her Should put upon the likes of him.
Now Jim was class-'e could sing a decent song And at scrappin ‘e ‘ad won some great renown It took two coppers for to make ‘im move along And anovver six to ‘old the feller dahn But today when I axes would he come an' ‘ave some beer To the door-step on tiptoe ‘e arrives “I dares't” says ‘e “Don't shout cos she'll ‘ear I've got ter clean the windows an' the knives.
Chorus:
On a Sunday morn, wiv a dozen pals or more ‘E'd play at pitch and toss along the Lea But now she bullies ‘im a scrubbin' ‘o the floor Such a change, well I never did I see Wiv an apron on ‘im I twigged ‘im on ‘is knees A rubbin' up the old ‘arf stone Wot wiv emptying the ashes and a shelling of the peas I'm blowed if ‘e can call ‘is-self ‘is own. ========================= Performed by Gus Elen Words by Edgard Bateman - music by George Le BrunnTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
