Just three individuals were lounging one day
In Paddington Green, on a seat
A masher, a tradesman, and coster were they
(Few greater contrasts you'll meet)
The trio were talking, and though it appears
They had the same notions and views
They each, while expressing the self-same ideas
Quite different language would use.

Refrain: For the masher spoke in stylish tones
Used words profound and strong
In language somewhat commonplace
The trademan rubbed along
The coster cared for eloquence
And grammar not a hang
So he expressed his sentiments in East End slang.

These three individuals were talking aloud
When close by a pretty girl passed
They stared in amazement, then inwardly vowed
That they had seen Venus at last
Each thought her the nicest girl out, and in short,
Each threw her the nicest of smiles
Then turned to each other to say what they thought
But said it in different styles.

Refrain: For the masher said, 'Now that's
A most angelic cweature there'
The tradesman said, 'She
Is a lovely damsel, I declare.'
Well, then, in language classical
The coster made a start
And he said, 'Strike me lucky,
That's a rare fine tart!'

The three individuals matches then struck
The tradesman lit up a cigar
The masher a cigarette in his lips stuck
The coster a clay black as tar
Just then round the corner a man came in sight
At every railing he clutched
And by the queer looks it was evident quite
That he'd had a little too much.

Refrain: And the masher said, 'That man's
Inebriated, sir, I think.'
And the tradesman said, 'I think you're right,
He's had enough to drink.'
The coster simply said,
'I think it's time he did a bunk
He's shaky on his trotters,
And the blokes fair drunk.'

These three individuals next were annoyed
By some street-musician, who played
A cornet of all tune and sweetness devoid
It simply an awful row made
They stood it for some minutes, then begged him to go
But go, not a bit of it, he just left off playing
Enough to say 'No.'
Then once again tortured the three.

Refrain: Then the masher said, 'Young man,
Desist, or I will call the p'lice
The tradesman said, 'They'll be a row,
My boy, unless you cease.'
The coster, though a better
Way out of the trouble saw
And he said, 'Mister, chuck it,
Or I'll break your jaw!'

These three individuals smoked coolly on
The day was delightful and dry
And nearly an hour unnoticed had gone
When slowly a fish-cart came by
'Twas rather warm weather, and you may suppose
That as the cart rolled down the street
The odour that greeted each sensitive nose
Though pungent, was not very sweet.

Refrain: Well, the swell said, 'That effluvia's
Unpleasant, don't you find?'
The tradesman said, 'It's not
A pleasant smell, but never mind'
The coster then the fish-cart
Indicated with his thumb
And he said, 'Strike me lucky,
Mister, don't that hum!'
Written and composed by Walter Pink & Frank Aylmer - 1890
Performed by Walter Pink (1862-1922)
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