THE JACKETER
i turned jacketer cos ov the flash mob’s lewd actions, fawneyfammed fancywomen wiv the brads, wearin’ worked caps, drinkin’ pots
ov porter, smokin’ weed in yards ov clay; nasty pebbles actin’ like coves, leadin’ away young morts by illadvice, stealin’ inter yer ‘ammock n fillin’ yer ears wiv smut, placin’ one ‘and in yer bosom, the other under yer shift to nail yer. Turn whore or lie under the sod starved dead? What to do, poor Judy? Get the bunt by buttock n twang or stick ‘er through the ‘eart wiv snipes? Us unfortunates what is de cent, neiver worn the iron collar nor bin tickled pink by the backscratcher’s tails, yis, previous we may’ve bin a blowen to get a gen’leman to bug over the rag or ‘is silk cly, jes to get by n not ‘ave a shaved ‘ead, buy a roll ov red riband, tea – baccy cost eight pence a fig! We ain’t incorrigible. We wants