We was always a hintimate family, An' we doted on one another; I was genuine fond o' my Uncle Fred, And o' Cousin Jim I've a-often said 'E was more like my own born brother; An' a feeling of 'earty affection I 'ad For Kate, wot 'ad married my eldest lad.
Now, my Uncle Fred keeps the 'Dumpshire Arms,' An' Jim's in the grocery trade; While Kate 'as a little front-window shop, Where she sells stone-bottles o' ginger-pop An' sweets as is all 'ome-made; And I earns enough for my board an' booze, A-makin' an' mendin' o' boots an' shoes.
Last winter it were, when times was bad, That Jim 'ad a 'appy thought; 'Ow fine it'd be if we'd all agree On a kind of a mutual trade, sez 'e, For our things as we sold an' bought; We'd 'elp one another (which sounded nice), An' be getting our goods at a lower price.
I'd tinker the boots o' the family cheap, An' get 'ome on my uncle's beer, Nor I wouldn't be 'avin' to strain my means A-buying expensive pertaters an' greens Orf o' Cousin Jim, no fear! An' for luxuries, such as the missus eats, I could get 'em 'alf-price orf o' Katie's sweets.
But it didn't work. For my Uncle Fred 'E treated me crool unfair; I sold 'im some shoes, starvation price, But I 'adn't a-tasted 'is beer but twice When 'e said as I'd drunk my share! Then I mended a couple o' pairs o' Kate's — But sweets is a thing as the missus 'ates.
Tho' for Cousin Jimmy I took an' made A set o' new 'eels and soles, I was paying for greens at a 'igher rate Than 'e charged to my Uncle Fred, or to Kate, An' 'is cheeses was full of 'oles! ('E was getting 'is liquor 'alf-price, no doubt, While I 'ad to bally well go without!)
Now, I 'aven't spoke to my Uncle Fred For nigh on six months or more, An' I've ceased to 'ave dealings with Cousin Jim (For at 'eart I'd a-often suspected 'im), An' I never won't darken 'is door; An' I've 'ad quite enough o' that rubbish o' Kate's, Wot was always the kind of a woman I 'ates.
Yes, family ties is a splendid thing If it's sentiment keeps 'em there; When it comes to a question o' gold and gain, They turns at once to a hirksome chain, Such as nobody wants to wear; When matters of money appears on the floor, Them family feelings walks out at the door!
If England's a-going to 'aggle an' fight For Colonial Preference, If the love of 'er sons for the Motherland Is a kind of a feeling as only can stand On a basis o' shillings an' pence, That sort o' foundation won't last overlong, An' there's something, I lay, must be 'opelessly wrong.
When the Colonies 'eld out their 'ands to us, It wasn't for British gold; But who 'll vouch for the love o' the Britisher-born, When 'e bargains 'is honour for tariffs on corn, An' 'is loyalty's bartered an' sold? (A 'appy 'armonious fam'ly we'll make, A-arguing who shall 'ave most o' the cake!)
We shall 'ave them Australian Governments A-striking for better terms, An' there's sure to be plenty o' grumbling when The Canadian manufacturing men Is competing wi' Henglish firms; An' each separate part o' the Hempire 'll feel As the others is 'aving the best o' the deal.
From which, if you follows my meaning through, There's a obvious moral to draw: Let's consider the Motherland's future, afore We allows 'er to risk being Mother no more, An' becoming the Mother-in-law! For if loyalty's paid for, it ain't worth a thought, An' affection's a fraud if it 'as to be bought.
BRITISH TRADE
Oh, why was I born a English lad, In a island all shut in by sea? Wot a much better chance I might 'ave 'ad If I'd only been 'made in Germanee'! Oh, why was I thus unwilling 'urled On the blooming 'dust-'eap o' the world.'
No doubt as the German artisan Don't get very much in the matter o' pay; But 'e works on the seven-days-weekly plan, With a haverage thirteen hours a day. An' 'e 'asn't no time for to sit an' think, Nor money enough to take to drink!
Then give me a permanent German job, With nothink at all but work to do; With weekly wages o' sixteen bob, For to keep myself an' the missus too; A-makin' them gimcrack German toys For poor little English gals an' boys.
To my London 'ome I'll say good-bye, For I 'asn't no use for a open port, Where the workin' wage is a deal too 'igh, An' the workin' hours is far too short; Where a workin'-man 'as time to sleep, An' food's to be 'ad so rotten cheap.
A German factory's more my taste, With none o' them lazy English ways, Where there ain't no money or time to waste On ridic'lous 'beanos' an' 'olidays; An' the workin' classes can just contrive To earn sufficient to keep alive.
When I slaves all day at a German trade, A-makin' them goods as they dumps down 'ere, When I'm overworked an' I'm underpaid, Till I feels as weak as that German beer, I'll think o' my English 'ome maybe, Where everythink (but the drinks) is free!
When I gets back 'ome of a Sunday night, With a supper o' nice black bread to eat, I'll 'ave such a 'ealthy appetite, I never won't need no butcher's meat; For 'unger, o' course, is the finest sauce, When you're swollerin' sausages made of 'orse!
An' I begs to state, when I comes 'ome late, With a 'ungry kind of a look in my eye, If I 'as to wait, with a hempty plate, Till the blooming cat's-meat-man comes by, I'll think wi' scorn o' the old 'dust-'eap,' Where mutton an' beef's to be bought so cheap.
For we don't know nothink o' 'orse-flesh 'ere, But Joe 'e'll learn us to eat it, when 'Is tariff makes British meat too dear For the pockets o' British workin' men; An' they're 'aving their Little Marys lined With a diet o' maize an' bacon rind!
When the price goes up of our meat and bread, By a grand Imperial scheme o' Joe's, We'll get cheap sugar and tea instead, An' we'll buy no food orf o' Britain's foes; For we'll 'ave no need o' the furriner's crops When we're living on sweets washed down wi' slops!