Words by Edgar Bateman, Music by George LeBrun

Song Sheet

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I've lost my pal, 'e's the best in all the tahn,
But don't you fink 'im dead, beco's 'e ain't.
But since 'e's wed 'e 'as 'ad ter 'nuckle dahn.
It's e-nuf-ter wax the temper of a saint!
'e's a brewers dray-man, wiv a leg o' mutton fist,
An' as strong as a bullick or an 'orse -
Yet in 'er 'ands 'e's like a little kid -
Oh! I wish as I could get 'im a divorce.


It's a great big shame, an' if she belong'd ter me
I'd let 'er know who's who.
Naggin at a feller wot is six foot free,
And her not four foot two!
Oh! they 'adn't been married not a month nor more,
When underneath her fumb goes Jim -
Isn't it a pity as the likes ov 'er
Should put upon the likes ov 'im?

Now Jim was class - 'e could sing a decent song,
And at scrappin' 'e 'ad won some great renown;
It took two coppers for to make 'im move along,
And annuver six to 'old the feller dahn.
But today when I axes would 'e come an' 'ave some beer,
To the door-step on tip toe 'e arrives;
"I dare-n't," says 'e - "Don't shout, 'cos sh'll 'ear -
I've got ter clean the winders an' the knives."


On a Sunday morn, wiv a dozen pals or more,
'e'd play at pitch an' toss along the Lea;
But now she bullies 'im a scrubbin 'o the floor -
Such a change, - well I never did see.
Wiv apron on 'im, I twigged 'im on 'is knees -
A rubbin' up the old 'arf stone;
Wot wiv emptyin' the ashes and a shellin' of the peas,
I'm blowed if 'e can call 'is self 'is own!