'E passes by, each day, at ten -
   A bottle-shouldered yid
Wot looks as if 'e pushed a pen
   An' drawes a weekly quid;
'E's always with some little lass;
   (By cripes, 'e gets some pearls!)
We calls 'im, watchin' of 'em pass,
   The bloke wot gits the girls.


An' strewth! it beats me outer sight
   'Ow girls can stand 'im - straight!
'E don't go five-feet-two in height
   Or eight-stun-two in weight;
'E couldn't swing a pick, - or scrap, -
   Soft 'ands an' sheeny curls!
'E's just a sorter - well, mishap,
   The Bloke wot gits the girls.


But yet each day some bit o' fluff
   Trips by, with this 'ere fraud,
A-breathin'-in 'is silly guff
   As if 'e wos a gawd.
'E shoots 'is cuffs, 'e swings 'is canes,
   'Is spiky mo 'e twirls, -
'E seems to mesmerise the Janes,
   The bloke wot gits the girls!


Well, tarts is tarts - it's 'ow they're built:
   I s'pose their gawd is clo'es;
But 'im - the puffed-up piece o' gilt,
   I'd like to punch 'is nose!
A-struttin', starin' round about
   As if 'is kind was earls!
Cripes!  'Ow I'd like to pass 'im out -
   The bloke wot gits the girls!

"Mad Mick"
The Bulletin, 31 July 1913, p5