HAULED I was from out the tip Fritz made with his demonstration, All broke up, a fractured hip In me Darby Kell a rip
Settn’ up a cool sensation Like excessive ventilation One‘ and cluttered up a treat- On me oath you would n't know it
From a‘ andsome plate of meat. They had sorter pied me feet, And a bullet of the foe hit Where no decent bloke could show it.
‘ Arf a year they've botched me now; Ev'ry scientific schemer In the cor’ has faked me prow, Soled‘ n’ heeled a bloke somehow-
Gawd, the last one was a screamer. Wirin’ up me flamin’ femur! Comes a guy and pipes you square, Gogglin’ at you through his glasses,
Swings you in the barber's chair, Tilts you this end up with care, Lets you have a whiff of gasses Chattin’ off-hand with the lasses.
Then he slices clean‘ n’ swift, Like a cobbler cuts his leather, Gives the splintered knob a lift- S'elp me tater, it's a gift
How they glues you all together, Sayin’ it's bin nicer weather! Surgeon wipes his‘ ands, a verse Chorte softly as he pitches
Probes and sponges to the nurse, Thinks the lunch might have bin worse; Close your little gap he hitches, Whistlin’ as he jabs the stitches.
I'm caught in with fiddle-strings, Stuck about with bits‘ n’ patches, Fixed with ligatures‘ n’ springs, Lath‘ n’ plastered, swung in slings
Skewered with little wooden matches, Hung with hinges, knobs‘ n’ latches. Till I lay behind me screen, Serious‘ n’ sober one day,
Satisfied‘ n’ all serene, ‘ Arf a man‘ n’‘ arf machine What they winds up ev'ry Monday ‘ N’ it tilts all ways by Sunday.
‘ Ome again I'll come, a neat, Semi-autymatic loafer, Number up,‘ n’ all complete, Creakin’ round on Collins Street,
With a licence ( which I'll owe for ) My own car and my own shofer!
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