KINCHEN FOR THE HALTER
wuz born devil brung up bad a norphan, me lord, wiv no famly cept clyfakers n old prigs i wuz a good buz in London traffickin in back parlours at doors of spells we’d ‘ustle a rum stall in the push i useter draw a reader or wiper from the cly of ‘is petersham, ramp ‘im of ‘is montra from ‘is garret n sting a swell mollisher for ‘er ‘addock stuffed with beans, fancy articles, frisk ‘er cly for ‘er fogle, pick the marks out wiv a needle they wuz prime flats i fenced the swag for a few quid but i wuz a rank spoon in them days an’ outan’out at staines one darky, when Oliver was down, me n me palls wuz wackin’ the blunt in some lushken lawks, some crosscove must’ve blown upon us and give music to the traps an ‘orney wuz staggin’ us n done call the rollers i wuz knapped seven pen’worth for puttin’ me forks down n causin’ devil n all ov trouble lagged