by Mary Druce When my old granny used to run this stall The market day was Wednesday – that was all. But now us stallholders in Albert Square Are here six days a week – it’s just not fair. And if you’re not, they’ll take yer pitch away. Yes, every day is bleedin’ market day. But I’m not wallowing in discontent. At least I’ve got a job – it pays me rent. And though I have to get up in the dark Most of the time I find it quite a lark. The stallholders are all me mates, you see, And buy me bacon rolls and cups of tea. I’ve got the cheeky chat, I’ve got the patter, And even if I con them, what’s it matter? These toffs come ‘ere just so that they can say ‘I’ve been down the East End on market day!’ It makes a welcome change from ‘nine-to-five’; So I just help to keep the dream alive. Come on now, love, these tops are all designer, New in from Italy – or was it China? (Well, somewhere foreign, anyway). The latest line. A bargain, girls, at fourteen ninety-nine! And, ‘cos I’m feeling gen’rous, just for you, For thirty smackeroos I’ll do you two! Yeah, try it on, love, go behind the screen, That’s what it’s there for – so you won’t be seen. I’ve got that skirt in pink and eau-de-nil, So maybe we could do a little deal? OK then, just the one, in green and grey I’ll put it in a carrier right away. I’ve got a range of clothes in every size, So take a look – you won’t believe your eyes! This stretchy fabric flatters every figure A twelve? No, sweetheart, you need something bigger. I’d say a twenty-two without a doubt. No-one will know – just cut the label out! And though I give advice, try as I might, The customer, they say, is always right. These sequinned boob-tubes are the sort of things That never should be worn with bingo wings. But money’s money. Do I give a damn If they end up like mutton dressed as lamb? Hey girls, just take a gander – come and see! You’ll find something to suit, I’ll guarantee. A strappy party dress, or skimpy shorts To give yer boyfriend rude and lusty thoughts. A nifty pelmet skirt; a sexy thong Or crotchless knickers. Kid, you can’t go wrong! (Short pause) The sun is sinking slowly overhead; I’m thinking wine and supper, bath and bed. So all I have to do is load the stuff Back in the truck. It’s late –I’ve had enough. . . . Someone’s just nicked a dress from off the rack! Oi, you! You little bleeder, bring it back!
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