Begob, it's mesilf that thought ye'd moved to the Ind of nowhere. |
Alfurd's mos' crazy 'bout bein' a circus clown an' ye'd die laffin' to see the little cuss cuttin' didoes. |
Begob, ye'd think it was plate glass ye're liftin', ye're so tinder about it! |
Thought maybe the poison oak had got too many for ye, an' ye'd shot yerself. |
But ye'd better be up arter 'im soon in the mornin', never mind the booze the night afore. |
If ye could transport your tenant, Mr. Moore, to Botany Bay, ye'd happen do better. |