Do you want to read this ditty <br />about a girl who came from, <br />the city. <br />Her name doesn't really matter, <br />because it's only, <br />a load of old chatter. <br />The girls father was a booser <br />a real right battle cruiser. <br />He sent her on the street, <br />with nothing on her, <br />plates of meat. <br />This poor little <br />cockney sparrow, <br />who could hardly push <br />her barrow. <br />The poor girl was brasic, <br />there was hardly any brass, <br />but the blame was with her farther, <br />who was always on his, Khyber Pass <br />She had to keep <br />herself fed, <br />to stop her from ending up <br />brown bread. <br />The toffs would come <br />dressed in whistle and flutes, <br />toffed up to the nines, <br />right down to their to daisy roots. <br />Upon their heads were titfer's <br />that shone like polished glass, <br />and always their sky rockets, <br />were jingerling, full of brass. <br />She would chat, to them all <br />until the very last call. <br />Then down the frog and toad <br />her drunken father would come, <br />he never knew it was all over, <br />when landing on his fife and drum. <br />The toffs they threw him <br />up on to the barrow, <br />and crushed his <br />prize cockney marrow. <br />They took him to the hospital, <br />because he coulden't, jimmy widdle <br />and this is the end, <br />of the cockney sparrows' riddle.<br /><br />sylvia spencer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-riddle-of-the-cockney-sparrow/
