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WHEN YOU FIGGER IT OUT
by
R.R. Pecorini & F. Harper Shove (1921)

I do 'ave a time when you figger it out,
A-pushin' dead leaves and a-muckin' about
In the gutters and streets. Yus there isn't much doubt,
I do 'ave a time when you figger it out.
I remember the days long ago when in luck,
There wasn't much need to be pushin' o' muck,
I didn't wear fusty old corduroy breeks,
An' I'd got some good colour in these poor old cheeks.
I was straight, I was tall, an' I 'adn't a care,
An I took such a pride in the clothes that I'd wear.
Eh! many's the time why I'd shave ev'ry day,
And grease me old forelock the fash'nable way.
I'd put on swell duds, an' set out for the park,
A-bent on a-sparkin' by way of a lark.
I was 'IT' I can tell you! Gals loved me some-how:
But lumme! who loves sich a poor old cuss now?
I married. Why, blow me! I'd nearly forgot,
It seems as 'twere back somewhere round the year dot.
She's gone now. God bless her, she left me a boy.
A cute little beggar, a bundle of joy.
He loved his old dad, too. Ah! bless him! 'Tis true: —
You knows 'ow your boy thinks the world about you!
But he's gone too — My 'Arry, a-missin' they said,
Then about a year after, 'Reported as dead.'
Aye! he died, did my boy, an' he couldn't be found
Tho' his mates, so they told me, searched all around
On the field where 'e fell when they made the attack.
But one day they found 'im and carried 'im back.
Yus! He's up at the Abbey, and the great folk they say,
Kneel and mourn for my 'ero while I work my way
Through the muck and the litter! They call 'im 'Unknown,'
But God let me know him — My 'Arry! My own!
I made my way up there a-dressed in my best,
Just to see where my boy's been a-laid out to rest,
An' it seems kind of helpin' me on with my job,
Abrushin' an' pushin' to earn a few bob.
I do 'ave a time when you figger it out
A-pushin' dead leaves and a-muckin' about
In the gutters and streets. Yus there isn't much doubt,
I've 'ad a time when you figger it out.
 
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