My father was a working man
and a collier was he,
at six in the morning they turned him down
and they turned him up for
tea
My mother was
a superior soul
a superior soul was she,
cut out to play a superior role
in the god-damn
bourgeoisie.
We children were the in-betweens
little nondescripts were we,
indoors we called each other you,
outside, it was tha and thee.
But time has fled, our parents are dead
we’ve risen in the world all
three;
but still we are in-betweens, we tread
between the devil and the deep sad
sea.
I am a member of the bourgeoisie
and a servant-maid brings me my tea
—
But I’m always longing for someone to say
‘ark’ere, lad! atween thee an’
me
they’re a’ a b — d — lot o’ — s,
an’ I reckon it’s nowt but
right
we should start an’ kick their — ses for’em
an’ tell’em to —
.