Although of
immigrant stock
I descend from the Dickensian Dodger
Hustle as the Costermonger once did on the same East End streets
I too wanted and deserve more – “MORE”?
Hustle as the Costermonger once did on the same East End streets
I too wanted and deserve more – “MORE”?
A fly pitcher, eyes peeled working on the
Run-Out
I’ll pay you little, nick all you can, if I catch I’ll break your hands
I’ll pay you little, nick all you can, if I catch I’ll break your hands
The
stinking funkum we punted on Oxford Street
The
Jekyll perfume sold for not it’s worth
The
profit spunked on the geegees
“Sorry son I’ll pay ya t’mora”
“Sorry son I’ll pay ya t’mora”
My journey here was through the London streets
I just kept falling uphill
I just kept falling uphill
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