Poetry or what

[robpage]

She was poor, but she was honest ,
She was a beauty to behold.
She was the victim of desire,
And her story must be told

She stood on the bridge at midnight,
Throwing snowballs at the moon.
She said Jack I've never had it ,
But she spoke to ** soon,

Chorus

She stood on the bridge at midnight,
picking blackheads from her crotch,
She said jack, " I've never had it,
He said, "no! not ** much.

He was passing on his charger,
And she curtsied low to him
She was but a poor mans daughter,
And she a rich mans whim.

She stood on the bridge at midnight,
My heart was all a quiver,
As I felt for her suspenders,
Her leg fell in the river.

Well he dazzled her with glitter,
Took her to the fox hunt ball.
Then he kissed her and then he tupped her,
And so began her moral fall.

Well she waited for her lover,
With anxious looks along the lane,
For she feared, there'd be a baby,
And she'd be left to take the blame.

Then she ran away to London;
So to hide her grief and shame,
There she met up with her lover,
Who plied her with, some more Champagne

In that bastard's arms she fluttered;
Like a bird wot's broke its wing.
For he loved her and then he left her,
On the street without a thing.

*

See 'im in the House of Commons.
Passing laws to combat crime.
Whilst the victim of 'is passions,
Walks the steets 'midst mud and slime.

See him in 'is splendid mansion,
Entertaining all his quests,
Whilst the girl that he has ruined,
Entertains a paying guest.

Now*she works in Piccadilly,
Selling all for half a crown.
For shes now completly ruined,
And there no way up but down.

Now shes with a Naval sailor,
And shes's dressed in a velvet gown,
For 'es spent his tin upon 'er;
As they waltz'd around the town.

Standing on the bridge at midnight,
Throwing snowballs at the moon.
She said "Jack, I've never had it,"
But she spoke to bloody soon.

Standing on the bridge at midnight,
picking blackheads from her crotch,
She said 'Jack I've never had it.'
He said, 'no, not *** much!'

Now shes working in the gutter,
selling matches by the box.
Whilst e's gone back down to Portsmouth,
with a double dose of pox.

Version 3
Now he was a Naval Captain,
Up from town upon a whim,
And she, a poor mans daughter,
Took a fancy unto him.

Its the same the whole world over,
There are those that take the blame,
There are those who take the pleasure.
Ain' it all a crying shame.

It's the same the whole world over,
It's the poor that gets the blame,
It's the rich who gets the pleasure,
Aint' it all a bloody shame.

She was just a Dockyard daughter,
Living there by the Dockyard gate.
For her father was the master,
And this songs about her fate.

Well he courted her most cruelly,
Filled her head with hopes and dreams.
Told her she would be a lady,
But nothing was wot it had seemed.

When she was eight, she wore blue ribbons,
As she waved the ships good bye,
And she prayed each Naval sailor
Would be safe up on that tide.

They stood on the bridge at midnight,
Throwing snowballs at the moon.
She said, "Sir, I've never had it!"
But she spoke to jolly soon.

Well ship by ship, the men, they loved her,
Each man vied to catch her eye,
For she stood for home and country,
Standing there to wave goodbye.

In that bastards arms she'd fluttered,
Like a bird wot's broke a wing.
For he loved 'er than 'e left 'er,
without a bleeding ring.

At eighteen she was a beauty,
Golden hair and shining eyes,
Still she waved with her blue ribbons,
Such a sight that damps the eyes.

She was poor but she was honest,
victim of that fellow's whim.
For he'd kissed her, then he tupped her,
And she had a child by him.

But one day from down in Dartmouth,
There came a lad to catch her eye.
And when he smiled she was in heaven,
But when he spoke, it was naught but lies.

So she ran away to London,
For to hide 'er grief and shame,
she was the victim of a bastard,
Who 'ad robbed her of her name

He looked so smart, in his tailored blue suit,
with gleaming rings upon the cuff.
And she dreamed she'd be his lady,
But for him she was nought but fluff.

See 'im*riding on 'is charger,
In the park so bright and gay.
Where the nibs and nobby persons,
Come to pass the time of day.

Many times he said - he loved her,
Made her think they'd married be.
But well brought up, she made him tarry,
Until together they'd married be.

.See 'im in his evening jacket,
See 'im strutting at his club,
While the victim of his whoring,
Drinks her gin inside a pub.

Then one day the storm clouds gathered,
His desire he could ne're restrain,
As he tore her clothes from off her,
So he stole away her name.

See 'im riding in his carriage,
Past the gutter where she stands,
He has made a stylish marriage,
While she wrings her ringless hands

Then up to the Dockyard Adm'ral,
Her father went, to make her claim.
But of his son, this dour old codger,
Would not hear a word in blame.

Now he's*at the fine theater,*
In the front row with the best,
Whilst the girl that he'd ruined,
Entertained a sordid guest.

But what was worse that boy he boasted,*
Told them all, she was on the game.
And to their shame the men believed him.
They all said, she'd herself to blame.

See her working in*piccadilly,
Offering all her aching quim,
For she's now completly ruined,
And it's all because of 'im.

Well as the spring passed into summer,
And her girth, it thickened out.
Not one Jack would would look upon her,
Without a leer or a bawdy shout.

Now she lives along the*gutter,
Selling matches by the box,
And if she can get a man to tup her,
They are sure to get the pox.

So*there we have, this dockyard daughter,
Cast from fame, to gutter trash.
She'd behaved as her father taught her,
She couldn't face the sailors wrath.

Standing on the bridge at midnight
With*the river fast below,
A scream A splash My Goodness,
Look she sinks below the flow.

Then one night so dark and stormy,
She threw herself to a watery plight.
And on the dark black dockyard water,
Floated ribbons so blue and bright.

When they dragged her from the river,
Water from her cloths they wrung,
They thought that she had drown-ed,
till her corpse got up and sung...

And they say, that when they found her,
And the water from her cloths was wrung,
That her last words,were for the sailors,
Despite the wrongs that they had done.

Then there came this wealthy pimp,
Marriage was he tale he told,
She had no one else to take her,
So she sold her soul for gold.

When the men heard all about it.
Then they knew they were to blame,
For in their fun,they had forgotten,*
There's no truth in a liars claim.

Now when your ship's in Pompey harbour,
And its berthed on the Northern quay,
If the night is dark and stormy,
You take care of what you see.

For she stands on that quay at midnight,
As the clouds scud past the moon,
Dressed in white with bright blue ribbons,
She beckons you to share her doom.

For she searches for her sailor,
Hoping still to win his eye.
Hoping still he's come to woo her,
To shed a tear because he lied.

*

[Doc Vernon]

I am no Prude
Think this is too crude
And I don't like it Dude!

For this site anyway Rob!
Should be in Scuttlebutt somewhere but we don't have Poetry for that Section!

Cheers

[robpage]

typical Deck officer to get chipping in there somewhere , used to be outside of sleeping engineers cabins

[vic mcclymont]

Dear Chipping Sodbury,
Please help,I am at my wit's end, I haven't slept for months. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the noise of hammers beating on steel, it's driving me mad. When I open eyes the noise stops.
On the rare occasion that I have drifted off to sleep, I dream of being chased by Diane Abbott, as I run from her, awaiting in the distance is the outstretched arms of Anna Soubry, how do I escape from this nightmare, how can I get a decent night's sleep?
Please help?
Sleepless Nottingham

[robpage]

STOP . Let mrs Abbot catch you. Get half a bottlr of Gordons and angustura down her neck ..get her kit pff snd pop her in the Harry Tates bed. .after a night of her bending his ear he wont be in the mood fot anything noisy ever again . Meanwhilst back to Anna

220px-Official_portrait_of_Anna_Soubry.jpg

[robpage]

Whoo Arrh . Do they still have the faír . I've not been that way for a long time but I remember the Widdicombe village on the grounds at whichever way you approach towing a caravan there was a damn great Hill