"The flamin' cows!" I know quite well that we
Ain't wot you'd call thin-skinned; and nasty pride
Is wot I never 'ad. . . . But 'er! . . . W'y she—
She's allus that stuck-up an' full o' side;
A sort o' thing I never could abide.
An' all the time 'er 'usband . . . . Goodness me!
"The flamin' cows!"
"The flamin' cows!" O' course 'e never knowed
That I was list'nin' to 'im all the w'ile.
'E muster bin a full hour on the road;
An', Lord, you could 'a' 'eard 'im fer a mile.
Jes' 'cos they stuck 'im in that boggy sile:
"If they ain't blanky swine," 'e sez, "I'm blowed!
The flamin' cows!"
"The flamin' cows!" W'y, if it 'ad occurred
An' me not 'eard, I'd 'ardly think it true.
An', you know well, I wouldn't breathe a word
Against a livin' soul, I don't care 'oo;
Not if the Queen of Hingland arst me to.
But, oh, that langwidge! If you only 'eard!
"The flamin' cows!"
