Mind the gap: Work-in-progress
She's the flinger of plurabilly teas,
She was, once-upon-a-golden-time;
And a good time it was two,
Despite the old hairy gobeen man,
Who was a-coming down a road,
drinking from a can.
She met a nice-uns-little boy name Baby Tookoo,
Her mother slopped her drat story.
Her rather had a leery face:
Sin, sin, Jesuitical-sin
Oh! No! For she shrew the grass darkly
Her baby, a faerie sprite,
Was so-so full o’spite:
milk white, lemon yellow, black taste, quite
“Oh why is mi wife in a miner quay?
Oh! why do me words a-mutter-to me?
And have she a goblin’s pretty face ?
and have she a-thought o'him, me, a-man-made o’lace?
Wiv her yellowish plait
She cud fright-a-cat
But, oh! Nip! she only have her seams
She spread her dreams under me feet
Me feet, dancing dainty, to waltz her to love me.