All the way on the road to Gary he could see where the sky shone
A good man is seized by the policeand spirited away. Months latersomeone brags that he shot him oncethrough the back of the head
Along the strand stones, busted shells, wood scraps, bottle tops, dimpled and stainless beer cans.
My banks are all furnished with rags,So thick, even Freddy can't thin 'em;I've torn up my old money-bags,Having little or nought to put in 'em.
The merry world did on a dayWith his train-bands and mates agreeTo meet together where I lay,And all in sport to jeer at me.
by animal's hand and stuckupon a vacant corpse
I rose up at the dawn of day--`Get thee away! get thee away!Pray'st thou for riches? Away! away!This is the Throne of Mammon grey.'
On the banks of the Mersey, o'er on Cheshire side, Lies Runcorn that's best known to fame By Transporter Bridge as takes folks over t'stream, Or else brings them back across same.
You've 'eard 'ow young Albert Ramsbottom,In the Zoo up at Blackpool one year,With a stick and 'orse's 'ead 'andle,Gave a lion a poke in the ear.
On Jubilee Day the RamsbottomsInvited relations to tea, Including young Albert's grandmother- An awkward old . . party, was she.
When Sam Small retired from the Army He'd a pension of ninepence a day,And seven pounds fourteen and twopence He'd saved from his rations and pay.
I'll tell of the Magna CharterAs were signed at the Barons' command On Runningmead Island in t' middle of t' Thames By King John, as were known as "Lack Land."
I'll tell of Canute, King of England,A native of Denmark was he,His hobbies was roving and raidingAnd paddling his feet in the sea.
Mr. Ramsbottom went to the races, A thing as he'd ne'er done before,And as luck always follers beginners, Won five pounds, no-less and no-more.
You've `eard `ow young Albert Ramsbottom At the zoo up at Blackpool one year With a stick with an `orse's `ead `andleGave a lion a poke in the ear?
Albert were what you'd call thwarted. He had long had an ambition, which... Were to save up and go to Australia, The saving up that were the hitch.
One day, little Albert RamsbottomTo see 'ow much money 'e'd gotStuck a knife in 'is money-box slot 'oleAnd fiddled and fished out the lot.
It is no vulgar nature I have wived. Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned, And not a thought of vengeance had survived.
In a small hotel in London I was sitting down to dine.When the waiter brought the register and asked me if I'd sign.
"There is no God," the wicked saith,"And truly it's a blessing,For what He might have done with usIt's better only guessing."
© Poemine.com | All of the information on this site has been reproduced for educational and informational purposes without charge.