Oh lor' he does just jabber, but you can't make out a word.
I can't abear Italians, as allus uses knives,
And talks a furrin lingo all their miserable lives.
But this one calls me BELLA--which my Christian name is SUE--
And 'e smiles and turns 'is orgin very proper, that he do.
Sometimes 'e plays a polker and sometimes it's a march,
And I see 'is teeth all shinin' through 'is lovely black mustarch.
And the little uns dance round him, you'd laugh until you cried
If you saw my little brothers do their 'ornpipes side by side,
And the gals they spin about as well, and don't they move their feet,
When they 'ear that pianner-orgin man, as plays about our street.

There's a feller plays a cornet too, and wears a ulster coat,
My eye, 'e does puff out 'is cheeks a-tryin' for 'is note.
It seems to go right through yer, and, oh, it's right-down rare
When 'e gives us "_Annie Laurie_" or "_Sweet Spirit, 'ear my Prayer_";
'E's so stout that when 'e's blowin' 'ard you think 'e must go pop;
And 'is nose is like the lamp (what's red) outside a chemist's shop.
And another blows the penny-pipe,--I allus thinks it's thin,
And I much prefers the cornet when 'e ain't bin drinkin' gin.
And there's Concertina-JIMMY, it makes yer want to shout
When 'e acts just like a windmill and waves 'is arms about.
Oh, I'll lay you 'alf a tanner, you'll find it 'ard to beat
The good old 'eaps of music that they gives us in our street.

And a pore old ragged party, whose shawl is shockin' torn,
She sings to suit 'er 'usband while 'e plays on so forlorn.
'Er voice is dreadful wheezy, and I can't exactly say
I like 'er style of singin' "_Tommy Dodd_" or "_Nancy Gray_."
But there, she does 'er best, I'm sure; I musn't run 'er down,