---

Edith Nesbit - The Jilted Lover To His Mother
Work rating: Low

You needn`t pray for me, old lady, I don`t want no one`s prayer,
I`m fit and jolly as ever I was--you needn`t think I care.
When I go whistling down the road, when the warm night is falling,
She needn`t think I`m whistling her, it`s another girl I`m calling.

If I pass her house a dozen times, or fifty times a day,
She needn`t think I think of her, my work lies out that way.
If they should tell her I`ve grown thin (for that is what they`ve told me)
This cursed weather counts for that, and not the girl who sold me.

And if they say I`m off my feed I still can tip a can;
If I get drunk what`s that to her? I am not her young man.
I know I`ve had a lucky let-off--she ain`t no class, she ain`t,
For all she looked like a bush o` roses and talked like a story book saint.

I never give a thought to her. Don`t worry your old head,
I`ve quite forgot her pretty ways and the cruel things she said,
There`s lots of other gals to be had as any chap can see,
So you cheer up, you`ve got no call to go and pray for me.
But all the same, if you want to pray, you`d best pray God take care of them,
For if I catch them two together, by hell! I`ll swing for the pair of them.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.