We was always a hintimate family, An’ we doted on one another; I was genuine fond o’ my Uncle Fred, And o’ Cousin Jim I've a-often said
‘ E was more like my own born brother; An’ a feeling of‘ earty affection I‘ ad For Kate, wot‘ ad married my eldest lad. Now, my Uncle Fred keeps the‘ Dumpshire Arms,’
An’ Jim's in the grocery trade; While Kate‘ as a little front-window shop, Where she sells stone-bottles o’ ginger-pop An’ sweets as is all‘ ome-made;
And I earns enough for my board an’ booze, A-makin’ an’ mendin’ o’ boots an’ shoes. Last winter it were, when times was bad, That Jim‘ ad a‘ appy thought;
‘ Ow fine it'd be if we'd all agree On a kind of a mutual trade, sez‘ e, For our things as we sold an’ bought; We'd‘ elp one another ( which sounded nice ),
An’ be getting our goods at a lower price. I'd tinker the boots o’ the family cheap, An’ get‘ ome on my uncle's beer, Nor I would n't be‘ avin’ to strain my means
A-buying expensive pertaters an’ greens Orf o’ Cousin Jim, no fear! An’ for luxuries, such as the missus eats, I could get‘ em‘ alf-price orf o’ Katie's sweets.
But it did n't work. For my Uncle Fred ‘ E treated me crool unfair; I sold‘ im some shoes, starvation price, But I‘ ad n't a-tasted‘ is beer but twice
When‘ e said as I'd drunk my share! Then I mended a couple o’ pairs o’ Kate's — But sweets is a thing as the missus‘ ates. Tho’ for Cousin Jimmy I took an’ made
A set o’ new‘ eels and soles, I was paying for greens at a‘ igher rate Than‘ e charged to my Uncle Fred, or to Kate, An’‘ is cheeses was full of‘ oles!
(‘ E was getting‘ is liquor‘ alf-price, no doubt, While I‘ ad to bally well go without! ) Now, I‘ ave n't spoke to my Uncle Fred For nigh on six months or more,
An’ I've ceased to‘ ave dealings with Cousin Jim ( For at‘ eart I'd a-often suspected‘ im ), An’ I never wo n't darken‘ is door; An’ I've‘ ad quite enough o’ that rubbish o’ Kate's,
Wot was always the kind of a woman I‘ ates. Yes, family ties is a splendid thing If it's sentiment keeps‘ em there; When it comes to a question o’ gold and gain,
They turns at once to a hirksome chain, Such as nobody wants to wear; When matters of money appears on the floor, Them family feelings walks out at the door!
If England's a-going to‘ aggle an’ fight For Colonial Preference, If the love of‘ er sons for the Motherland Is a kind of a feeling as only can stand
On a basis o’ shillings an’ pence, That sort o’ foundation wo n't last overlong, An’ there's something, I lay, must be‘ opelessly wrong. When the Colonies‘ eld out their‘ ands to us,
It was n't for British gold; But who‘ ll vouch for the love o’ the Britisher-born, When‘ e bargains‘ is honour for tariffs on corn, An’‘ is loyalty's bartered an’ sold?
( A‘ appy‘ armonious fam'ly we'll make, A-arguing who shall‘ ave most o’ the cake! ) We shall‘ ave them Australian Governments A-striking for better terms,
An’ there's sure to be plenty o’ grumbling when The Canadian manufacturing men Is competing wi’ Henglish firms; An’ each separate part o’ the Hempire‘ ll feel
As the others is‘ aving the best o’ the deal. From which, if you follows my meaning through, There's a obvious moral to draw: Let's consider the Motherland's future, afore
We allows‘ er to risk being Mother no more, An’ becoming the Mother-in-law! For if loyalty's paid for, it ai n't worth a thought, An’ affection's a fraud if it‘ as to be bought.
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