The Song of the Jolly LaggerA Poem by David Lewis Paget‘We come from Shoreditch Gorbals
Bishopsgate
Clerkenwell, Spitalfields and old St. Giles,
The ladies on the town and the gents on the dip,
And the capital coves from the old hulk ship.
I’ve been on the cross since eleven or so
And I’ve pushed a few down for a bob,
But the nosers get a little too hot for a lag
And the runners do a bad-cess job.’
‘I’ve been to Brixton
Newgate
Maidstone
Bridewell, Compter, and once in Steel,
Manning was hanging and his wife turned off
As I found a new watch on a Park Lane toff.
I met me a man with a tattooed arm
And a prostitute known as Nell,
We were nailed by the sale of the lead from a church
With a journey that we couldn’t quite sell.’
‘I’ve gone through Jackson
Norfolk
Maquarie
Ports Arthur and Phillip, Van Diemen’s curse,
I’ve dragged a lot of chain, and I’ve done a lot of time
And I took a lot of lash on this back of mine;
But I never did sing when the cat came down
Though I took to the bush when I could,
The bushranging life for a shiftless man
Does his soul quite a power of good.’
‘We come from Shoreditch
Gorbals
Bishopsgate
Clerkenwell, Spitalfields and old St. Giles,
Living in the shadows of the well-worn gallows
Of the cat-o-nine tails and the capital coves.
See ‘em turned off as we dipped for a guinea
Or pitched and tossed for a shilling,
If I had it all again I’d still be a lag…
While money’s still money, and my pockets keep filling.’
David Lewis Paget
© 2012 David Lewis Paget |
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Added on February 26, 2008Last Updated on June 27, 2012 Author
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