Kismet

THERE were a gel by the nime o' Jine Sen' Jim a hugely valentine Which mistikin' 'e thought, did Jim, As it were Bill 'ad sent it 'im, So 'e fixed up, ter level the score, One pile o' water a-top of a door.

An' theer ain't no justice— No justice in the lan', An things they 'appen As we cannot unnerstan'. 'Tis the truth We're gradshally arrivin' at— 'Alf the time We dunno whort we're drivin at; An' theer ain't no justice in the lan'

The fust through the door weren't Bill, but Ned, And 'e gort the bucket over 'is 'ead. "'Tis," thinks 'e, "like the damfool tricks We're allus 'aving from 'Ecter 'Icks." So 'e sent a wire ter 'Icks, which said: "Plase come at once. Your wife is dead."

An' theer ain't no justice, etc.

When 'Ecter farnd it were spoof, then 'e Felt as sick as a chap cud be, And 'e said: "Next fust of Ipril hi Will mike 'im know the reasing why." Fur 'e thought as the chap whort sent the wire Were a man at the docks called Maggintyre

An' theer ain't no Justice, etc.

Fust of Ipril, darn at the docks, 'E sees a man perched up on a box; Inter the water 'e shoves 'im splash, Shartin': "Ole Maggins, thet's cooked your 'ash!" When 'e suddingly farnd thet the man worn't 'im But a totil stringer—whort couldn't swim!

An' theer ain't no justice, etc.

The totil stringer, I should expline, Were gordpapa ter the gel called Jine. 'E'd scriped tergether a tidy lot, An' when 'e were dead she scooped the pot. An' she's give up Jim, and at Ned she kicks An' she turns up 'er nose at 'Ecter' Icks.

An' theer ain't no justice, etc.