The Lord Mayor of Melbourne said yesterday that he was certain many people who ought to have more self-respect were recipients of hospital charity.
Yes; he's been sick in hospital. Ain't it tough luck? Bad news to hear about a pal. But -- love a duck? Crook health ain't run him short of tin; He's saved a bit since he's moved in. A shrewd head him; knows every point. He's hard to touch. And even in a nursing joint He don't miss much. Cunning? Bed, nursing, doctor's fee Don't cost a bean. He got 'em free. Aw, no; his income has gone on, And he's well set. He's got a bit to draw upon; But don't forget The times is hard, and any man Has got to make it while he can. And while the hospitals is there, Well, ain't they free? And ain't he got the right to share, Or you, or me, In what the Gover'ment provides? What do they run 'em for, besides? Well, no; he ain't a bloke to give, No more's his wife. But then a man has got to live. You bet your life. He don't go wasting money free; He's -- sort of -- economic. See? Ten quid a week don't go too far, And, don't forget; His gramophone and motor car Ain't paid for yet. It's bad enough to go down sick; You can't pile exes on too thick. What? Pay? Him pay a weekly fee? Aw, don't talk rot! When he can scheme to get it free? It's pretty hot If toiling bokes like him can't look For charity when they get crook. Nice cove. I'm sorry he was sick. But never mind. Now he's been put in proper nick He ain't the kind To part up with a single tray. Nice bloke; but he ain't been built that way.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2004|