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My old dark eyes then set on Jim LeBode, son of Maston McClure
Pilfering, pattering, through his threadbare poverty pockets of poor.
A children's skip, a surprised toad-like giggle I heard
Crawling on feet on McDonald Street alas, I saw her black bird.
What a spectacle she was dressed in her royal finest of silks
Must have cost 'undred sheep their coats with sips of stolen milks.
Ah, a pick pocket and beggar scrolled silently with me for a mile
Tearing my fog coat to pieces, and piling me into a pile.
But poor ol' Jim LeBode, a son of a banker so tight
He's tear down a limb for a lost nickel and lie to the sun for light.
Ah, me and the pick pocket, beggar and harlot so happy to be
Skipping in tandem and singing in trio, us three.
Why must a misty world be evil and good be beheld with songs
While maidens fair with fashioned hair and mares of minstrel's furlongs.
I find myself at mercy's spell--the pick pocket, harlot and beggar too
These people tho' hungry can't scrape a crumb from a shoe.
Ah, we poor. Ah, we lean, sit quietly watching life's cruel machine
Wring 'em in, wring 'em out as if we were mad mongrels so evil and mean.
Bring us fish. Bring us cherry's dish
A bread two days would be me wish.
But feed the pick pocket, harlot and beggar so true
Portion of meat cooked by Queen's maiden with eyes of blue.
Whilst I gaze to the north to see the mariners call low
I crawl on feet on McDonald Street and groan to suffer their blow.
Shipping captains and first mates with jugs o' wine and rum
Run swiftly to roof acting aloof while whores take the old bums.
Me and me feet fall to McDonald Street starved like the rats
Why would God make me man and see me die as like a bat?
Ah, sing oh, young school boy, sing a song of sugar sweet
Sing loudly from your perfect, planned window with seat.
I'll pretend to be deaf and turn from the left
To waste slowly away in the hole that I've cleft.
© 2017 Kenneth Avery