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Edward Dyson - Repaired
Work rating: Low

Hauled I was from out the tip 
   Fritz made with his demonstration, 
All broke up, a fractured hip 
In me Darby Kell a rip 
   Settn` up a cool sensation 
   Like excessive ventilation 

One `and cluttered up a treat- 
   On me oath you wouldn`t know it 
From a `andsome plate of meat. 
They had sorter pied me feet, 
   And a bullet of the foe hit 
   Where no decent bloke could show it. 

`Arf a year they`ve botched me now; 
   Ev`ry scientific schemer 
In the cor` has faked me prow, 
Soled `n` heeled a bloke somehow- 
   Gawd, the last one was a screamer. 
   Wirin` up me flamin` femur! 

Comes a guy and pipes you square, 
  Gogglin` at you through his glasses, 
Swings you in the barber`s chair, 
Tilts you this end up with care, 
   Lets you have a whiff of gasses 
   Chattin` off-hand with the lasses. 

Then he slices clean `n` swift, 
   Like a cobbler cuts his leather, 
Gives the splintered knob a lift- 
S`elp me tater, it`s a gift 
   How they glues you all together, 
   Sayin` it`s bin nicer weather! 

Surgeon wipes his `ands, a verse 
   Chort1e softly as he pitches 
Probes and sponges to the nurse, 
Thinks the lunch might have bin worse; 
   Close your little gap he hitches, 
   Whistlin` as he jabs the stitches. 

I`m caught in with fiddle-strings, 
   Stuck about with bits `n` patches, 
Fixed with ligatures `n` springs, 
Lath `n` plastered, swung in slings 
   Skewered with little wooden matches, 
   Hung with hinges, knobs `n` latches. 

Till I lay behind me screen, 
   Serious `n` sober one day, 
Satisfied `n` all serene, 
`Arf a man `n` `arf machine 
   What they winds up ev`ry Monday 
   `N` it tilts all ways by Sunday. 

`Ome again I`ll come, a neat, 
   Semi-autymatic loafer, 
Number up, `n` all complete, 
Creakin` round on Collins Street, 
   With a licence (which I`ll owe for) 
   My own car and my own shofer!
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