REPAIRED

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!