by Norman Long Now, there's things what makes yer angry And there's things what makes yer larf Like the time I was in our local Knockin' back a 'arf. The barmaid says', "You look fed up!" I says, "Yes, and so would you!" 'Cos there's capers I don't 'old with And I'll tell yer one or two. Now what about this yankee game Of puttin' beer in tins Now there's a funny lark... Don't 'old with it. When I leans up against the bar With a tankard in me 'and Well, that's alright... but fancy, When you start off drinkin' canned. Waitin' for a tin-opener In a queue and gettin' cursed The bloke before you drops it An' 'e's gotta find it first... By the time 'e gets 'is top off Why... I might have died of thirst! Besides, those tins'll cut yer mouth... Don't 'old with it. And look at this 'ere make-up The girls put on their dials Mucky, dirty stuff... Don't 'old with it. Pluckin' all their eyebrows out And squealin' with the pain Then draws 'em with a pencil Just to shove 'em back again. Puffs an' paints an' powder Littered all around the place. Smearin' lip-stick on their lips I calls it a disgrace. A bloke gets 'ome an' 'is missus says "Oy! what's that on yer face?" Blinkin' stuff comes orf... Don't 'old with it. And there's another barney I don't 'old with anyhow These are 'easy payments' What they tempts a chap with now. All they ask for is your signature Upon the dotted line And a bob or two deposit And you sings, "The World is Mine..." 'Ouses on the easy, Put 'arf a guinea down At three and six a week... Don't 'old with it. The cat 'ops on the window-sill It's feedin' like a game Swishes of it's rudder Knocks out the blinkin' pane. A pal of mine, 'e took one And one day 'e pays a call 'E was fixin' up a picture With a 'ammer on the wall, 'E fetches it a clout Down comes the picture, 'ouse 'n' all. Now there's a way to live... Don't 'old with it. An' I don't 'old with neighbours Never did and never shall One side of me, I've got a bloke Who rows with 'is ol' gal. And opposite there's 'ens and dorgs It's like a ruddy zoo. An' it only wants the road up For a proper 'how d'y do' Now a neighbour's moved in next door What's musically inclined Talk about a din!... Don't 'old with it. Now a fiddle or a whistle-pipe Now that'd be alright But 'im... 'e blows a saxaphone Till twelve o' clock at night. Now what I says is this, And I was never one to moan... 'It's an ill wind what blows No'one any good, when sat alone.' But if there's any good in 'im What blows a saxaphone Well, I'll eat my blinkin' bowler... Don't 'old with it.
The end