'im
Want to ferret hout the _facks_, they might apply to GINGER JIM.

There's the mischief in these matters; them as knows won't always
tell.
Wy, if you want to spot a "screw," or track up a bad smell,
You've got to be a foxer, for whilst slums makes topping rent,
There will always be lots 'anging round to _put yer off the scent_!

I can tell yer arf the right 'uns even ain't quite in the know,
And there's lots o' little fakes to make 'em boggle, or go slow.
Werry plorserble their statements, and they puts 'em nice and plain,
And a crockidile _can_ drop 'em when 'e once turns on the main.

All the tenants' faults; they likes it, dirt, and scrowging, and
damp walls!
They _git used to_ 'orrid odours! O the Landlord's tear-drop falls.
Werry often, when collecting of his rents, to see the 'oles
Where the parties as must pay 'em up _prefers_ to stick, pore souls!

No compulsion, not a mossel! Ah, my noble lords and gents
Who are up in arms for Libbaty--that is, of paying rents--
You've rum notions of Compulsion. NOCKY SPRIGGINS sez, sez 'e,
While you've got a chice of starving, or the workus, ain't ye
_free_!

Free? O vus, we're free all round like; there ain't ne'er a
bloomin' slave,
White or black, but wot is free enough--to pop into 'is grave;
Though if they ketch yer trying even _that_ game, and yer _fail_,