How many kinds of sweet flowers grow
In an English country garden?
I'll tell you now of some that I know
And those I miss you'll surely pardon:
Daffodil, heart's ease and phlox
Meadowsweet and lady smocks
Gentian, lupine and tall hollihocks,
Roses, foxgloves, snowdrops, forget-me-nots,
In an English country garden.

I've just got here, through Paris, from the sunny southern shore;
I to Monte Carlo went, just to raise me winter's rent.
Dame Fortune smiled upon me as she'd never done before,
And I've now such lots of money, I'm a gent.
Yes, I've now such lots of rhino, I'm a gent.

As I walk along the Bois Boolong
With an independent air
You can hear the girls declare
"He must be a Millionaire."
You can hear them sigh and wish to die,
You can see them wink at the other eye
At the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.

Where has that old friend gone?
Lost in a February song.
Tell him it won't be long,
‘Til [Until] he opens his eyes,
Opens his eyes.

This is for Bedirhan on Disqus.

Evening all.

I'd like to tell you a story about when I was a very young boy. I must have been three or four months old at the time, and I didn't know what I wanted, but if I did, I wouldn't have known how to tell anybody, 'cos all I could do was gurgle. So I sat there in me [my] highchair, thinking one day, looking at me [my] tray and thinking what I'd give for a meal on there. So I started looking round the kitchen to see what I could have. I was rubbing me [my] eggy soldier in me [on my] head, trying to think, and then I looked over in the corner and there's a yellow and white breadbin with its mouth open, just staring at me, like. I saw bread in there.

We listened to and disussed this murderous sea shanty in the Kitely session on "Talk Like A Pirate Day".   

Fifteen men on a dead man's chest.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
Drink and the devil had done with the rest.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike,
The bosun brained with a marlinspike,
And cookey's throat was marked belike,
It had been gripped by fingers ten;
And there they lay, all good dead men
Like break o'day in a boozing den.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.

A last fire will rise behind those eyes.
Black house will rock. Blind boys don't lie!
Immortal fear, that voice so clear,
Through broken walls. That scream I hear!