Jerusalem’s Dead, The

I’ve ’ad four ’arf-pints at the “Magpie an’ Stump’, 
An’ two goes o’ rum jes ter keep up my sperrits; 
My mince-pies are waterin’ jes like a pump, 
An’ they’re red as a ferrit’s. 
Cos why? ’Tain’t the missis or kids wot I’ve lost,
But one wot I carefullie doctored an’ fed; 
The nussin’ an’ watchin’ ’as turned out a frost— 
The Jeerusalem’s dead! 

Yer won’t see ’im pullin’ the barrer no more 
Wi’ me an’ the missis a-sellin’ the coke; 
'E died ’s arfernoon at a quarter ter four, 
But I think that it’s rougher on me than the moke. 

’E’ad a big ’eart and a strong pair o’ ’eels, 
A temper as short as was e’er manifactured; 
In ’arness ’e used ter do ’ornpipes an’ reels, 
An’ my ribs ’e once fractured! 
’E bit like the devil, and eat like a ’orse, 
An’ orfen ’e’d try ter stan’ up on ’is ’ead; 
It’s all over now wiv ’is tricks an’ ’is sauce, 
The Jeerusalem’s dead! 

I stroked ’is old ’ead as ’e laid in the stall, 
An’ some’ow or other I felt I must kiss ’im! 
I’ve a wife an’ some youngsters — ’e wasn’t quite all, 
But I know I shall miss ’im. 
There’s one thing I’m certain, ’is grub was the best,
An’ I’ve gone short myself ter purvide ’im a bed: 
Come ’an ’ave ’arf a pint — there’s a lump in my chest 
The Jeerusalem’s dead!