Brogan's Lane

There’s a crack in the city, and down that street, In couples with guns, tramp "rossers" on beat, To bash with a baton's butt. Labor in vain, For a hotter nor Hell is Brogan's Lane; Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane, Rats pinch from each other down Brogan’s Lane.

There's nary a light, and the steps shoot down straight; Drunks land on their heads when they come to their fate. 'Tis a curious study, when sobered again, How the drunk lost his balance down Brogan's Lane; Brogan's Lane, Brogan's Lane, Lost his balance and clothes down Brogan's Lane.

Flash Ned, when he "dives on a red lock," takes care, When the crowd gazes round Flash Ned isn't there; Up some side-cut he sneaks, but he doesn't complain, He's as safe as a chapel down Brogan's Lane; Brogan's Lane, Brogan's Lane, It's a short cut to Heaven, this Brogan's Lane.

When Flossie is fresh, only toffs will she meet, But beer drags her down to a girl of the street; Till, one morn, lying out in the cold and the rain, They find her dead body in Brogan's Lane; Brogan's Lane, Brogan's Lane, She strikes the Dead Finish down Brogan's Lane.

With its opium dens, and its cribs, bones and rags, 'Tis the haunt of thieves, wastrels, poor women, and vags; They booze to bring joy, they sin to numb pain, But the "Jug" lies close handy to Brogan's Lane; Brogan's Lane, Brogan's Lane, The river and morgue follow Brogan's Lane.