I must go down to the seas again, where the billows romp and reel, So all I ask is a large ship that rides on an even keel,
In the land of Bombaria The customs are peculiar.
O lame and impotent conclusion! 'Tis
As some full stream should run not to the sea,
Oh, it's dreadful to think in a country like this
With its chances for work - and enjoyment
Our Aunt Hanna's passed away,
We 'ad her funeral today,
I have no wish to rail at fate,
And vow that I'm unfairly treated;
Without the slightest basis
For hypochondriasis
Beautiful soup, so rich and green, Waiting in a hot tureen!
The boys had come back from the races
All silent and down on their luck;
The cheese-mites asked how the cheese got there,
And warmly debated the matter;
To people who allege that we
Incline to overrate the Sea
Old Sam first came to London
When George the Fourth were King,
In this world of ours,
We eat only to cast out,
I am back from up the country — very sorry that I went — Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent;
'Suddenly out went the lights
Without the slightest warning,
The sheep are yarded, an’ I sit
I don't want to come, yet suddenly I'm here;
There's nane that's blest of human kind
But the cheerful and the gay, man.
When the horse has been unharnessed and we've flushed the old machine,
And the water o'er the sluice is running evenly and clean;
A happy vicar I might have been
Two hundred years ago
I long for the streets but the Lord knoweth best,
For there I am never a saint;
The week had gloomily begun
For Willie Weeks, a poor man's
Beeg Irish cop dat walk hees beat
By den peanutta stan’,
I know but will not tell
you, Aunt Irene, why there
From Woolwich and Brentford and Stamford Hill, from Richmond into the Strand,
Oh, the Cockney soul is a silent soul – as it is in every land!
Ah, Yes! I Wrote the "Purple Cow" --
I'm Sorry, now, I Wrote it!
To Policeman G. the Inspector said:
"When you pass the 'shops' you must turn your head;
By Lawson's Hill, near Mudgee,
On old Eurunderee –
Texas Jack, you are amusin’. By Lord Harry, how I laughed
When I seen yer rig and saddle with its bulwarks fore-and-aft;
Have you love for me,
Yours my love shall be,
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