I Had But 50 Pence
I took my girl to a fancy ball,
It was a social hop,
But we stayed until the folks went out,
And the music it did stop,
Then to a restaurant we went,
The best one in the street,
She said she wasn't hungry,
But this was what she ate:
A dozen raw, a plate of slaw,
A chicken and a roast;
Some sparrow grass and apple sass,
A soft shell crab on toast;
A big hot stew, and crackers too;
Her appetite was immense;
When she called for pie, I thought I'd die,
For I had but fifty pence.
She said she wasn't hungry,
She didn't care to eat;
Now I've got money in my clothes,
To feed she can't be beat;
She took it in so cosy,
She had an awful tank;
She said she wasn't thirsty,
But this is what she drank.
A whiskey skin, a glass of gin,
It made me shake with fear;
Some ginger pop with rum on top,
A schooner, then of beer,
A glass of ale, a gin cocktail,
She ought to have more sense.
When she called for more I fell on the floor,
For I had but fifty pence.
You bet I wasn't hungry
I didn't care to eat;
Expecting every moment,
To be kicked out in the street.
She said she'd bring her family round
Some day, and we'd have fun;
Then I gave the man the fifty pence,
And this was what he done.
He tore my clothes, he smashed my nose,
He made me very sore;
He gave me a prize of a pair of black eyes,
And with me swept the floor.
He took me where my clothes loose,
And threw me over a fence;
Take my advice, don't try it twice,
When you've got but fifty pence.
by Sam Dolan, died 2 September 1995