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LOR! LUMME! YOU'D NEVER BELIEVE IT
by
H.M. Burnaby and Herbert Townsend

'Ow do-ev'ry one-Missis Crowe is the name.
A respectable woman, I 'opes you're the same;
Now my old man retired from 'is bizness last year,
So I goes out charin' yerss, that's why I'm 'ere.
I've a regular round, and the things as I've seen,
Take the people I do for, at Number Sixteen!
All this 'ere central 'eatin', armchairs made o' steel.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
They sleeps in twin beds, they're a swindle I'd say;
Ain't no twin in the family-yet-anyway,
They've a son, drives a motor, it goes whizzin' by,
All covered with mottoes, fair catches yer eye,
There's one on the front of it, sez, "Jump or die!"
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
Yerss! an' wots more, they're noodist, they've ladies an' gents,
In their bit o' back garden, no clothes, no pretence,
I know, 'cos I once had a garp through the fence
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
There's them couple o' corfdrops, wot's took "Mon Repos"
They only moved in there a few days ago,
Now she went out charin' one time, same as me;
While 'e used to be a bricklayer, yer see,
Touched lucky, they did, which you don't as a rule,
'Avin' got 'em all right in a big football pool.
They sits down to breakfast, in full h'evening dress.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
Big six course dinners, she puts on at night;
'E kicks, 'cos there ain't tripe and onions, that's right.
She dresses 'im up, like a posh country squire,
An' keeps talkin' of tutors she's goin' to 'ire;
'Cos 'e will drop 'is haitches, and spit in the fire.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
Card parties! such luck you'd never conceive,
Ev'ry thing that they touch turns to gold I believe,
And it will, while 'er old man's an ace up 'is sleeve.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
Now old Mother Finch, where I goes, at `The Firs'
She's a packet, and so is that daughter of 'ers,
When the two of 'em starts, they fair makes the place buzz,
Wot one doesn't think of, the other one does,
'Arf-a-crown and me dinner I gets, if yer please,
And last Thursday I clicks, for some nice bread and cheese.
All 'oity toity', as poor as church mice.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
They've bin lookin' so 'ard for a 'usbind for years,
That they've both gorn and sent theirselves crosseyed, poor dears,
'Ere! she giv' me a 'at once, a 'at's, wot she said,
It was more like a 'ouse, and as 'eavy as lead,
Like a blinkin' great bee-hive stuck upon me 'ead,
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
And one day she sez, with 'er eyes, all aglow
"Ere's lingerie you'll find it useful I know,"
And there's me, give up red flannelette, years ago.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
Now the ol' Missus 'Obson, at flat number three,
Between me and you, she's a nice cup o' tea,
Lor! the things she ain't bin, and the things she ain't done,
From wot I can see, that old girl is a `one,'
She's a bit of a mystery, no shadder o' doubt,
Where 'er money comes from, I can't just make out.
Ev'rything's posh like, an' all up to date.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
Yet if anyone knocks at the door of the flat,
She goes all 'ot an' bothered, and yells out "Oo's that?"
There's orniments, all 'idden up, more or less,
Knives, forks, an' spoons, well you can't 'elp but guess,
'Cos some is marked Lyons and some L.M.S.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
She gits watched by the Tecs. at the big stores in town
"I'm just pickin' up bargains," she'll say with a frown.
They say "We'll pick you up, if you don't put 'em down."
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
But, I knows a backroom, where the sun's peepin' through
Up three flights o' stairs, the address, is West Two,
One o' my Reg'lars, she's just eightyfour,
Yerss, I've known 'er for years, so I knocks on the door,
And I 'ears a, "Come in", in a voice soft an' low,
And an old lady's step, as is falterin' an' slow.
All alone with 'er mem'ries, of days past an' gorn.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
Yerss, she give me my first job, as maid, at the Hall
I've the picture in front o' me, 'angs on the wall,
There's 'er 'usbind, the General, 'e won a V.C.
There's the 'orses, an' 'ounds, 'neath the old chestnut tree,
And then came the smash up, then Napoo, Finee.
Lor lumme! you'd never believe it!
But I'd trudge up them stairs if they measured a mile,
Just so me and My Lady can chat for a while,
And me payment is 'andsome, just 'er thanks, and 'er smile.
That's right, though you'd never believe it.

 
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