把我从弗里茨用他demonstration, All broke up, a fractured hip In me Darby Kell a rip Settn' up a cool sensation Like excessive ventilation One 'and cluttered up a treat- On me oath you wouldn't know it From a 'andsome plate of meat. They had sorter pied me feet, And a bullet of the foe hit Where no decent bloke could show it. 'Arf a year they've botched me now; Ev'ry scientific schemer In the cor' has faked me prow, Soled 'n' heeled a bloke somehow- Gawd, the last one was a screamer. Wirin' up me flamin' femur! Comes a guy and pipes you square, Gogglin' at you through his glasses, Swings you in the barber's chair, Tilts you this end up with care, Lets you have a whiff of gasses Chattin' off-hand with the lasses. Then he slices clean 'n' swift, Like a cobbler cuts his leather, Gives the splintered knob a lift- S'elp me tater, it's a gift How they glues you all together, Sayin' it's bin nicer weather! Surgeon wipes his 'ands, a verse Chort1e softly as he pitches Probes and sponges to the nurse, Thinks the lunch might have bin worse; Close your little gap he hitches, Whistlin' as he jabs the stitches. I'm caught in with fiddle-strings, Stuck about with bits 'n' patches, Fixed with ligatures 'n' springs, Lath 'n' plastered, swung in slings Skewered with little wooden matches, Hung with hinges, knobs 'n' latches. Till I lay behind me screen, Serious 'n' sober one day, Satisfied 'n' all serene, 'Arf a man 'n' 'arf machine What they winds up ev'ry Monday 'N' it tilts all ways by Sunday. 'Ome again I'll come, a neat, Semi-autymatic loafer, Number up, 'n' all complete, Creakin' round on Collins Street, With a licence (which I'll owe for) My own car and my own shofer!