English poem
Vi
by John Stephen Farmer (1854–1916)
"Then," says he, says Sir Richard Birnie, "I adwise you to nose on your pals, and turn the Snitch on the gang, that'll be the best vay To save your scrag." Then, without delay, He so prewailed on the treach'rous varmint That she was noodled by the Bow St. sarmint Then the beaks they grabbed me, and to prison I vas dragged And for fourteen years of my life I vas lagged.