Hauled I was from out the tip 
Fritz made with his demonstration, 
All broke up, a fractured hip 
In me Darby Kell a rip 
Settn' up a cool sensation 
Like excessive ventilation 

One 'and cluttered up a treat- 
On me oath you wouldn't know it 
From a 'andsome plate of meat. 
They had sorter pied me feet, 
And a bullet of the foe hit 
Where no decent bloke could show it. 

'Arf a year they've botched me now; 
Ev'ry scientific schemer 
In the cor' has faked me prow, 
Soled 'n' heeled a bloke somehow- 
Gawd, the last one was a screamer. 
Wirin' up me flamin' femur! 

Comes a guy and pipes you square, 
Gogglin' at you through his glasses, 
Swings you in the barber's chair, 
Tilts you this end up with care, 
Lets you have a whiff of gasses 
Chattin' off-hand with the lasses. 

Then he slices clean 'n' swift, 
Like a cobbler cuts his leather, 
Gives the splintered knob a lift- 
S'elp me tater, it's a gift 
How they glues you all together, 
Sayin' it's bin nicer weather! 

Surgeon wipes his 'ands, a verse 
Chort1e softly as he pitches 
Probes and sponges to the nurse, 
Thinks the lunch might have bin worse; 
Close your little gap he hitches, 
Whistlin' as he jabs the stitches. 

I'm caught in with fiddle-strings, 
Stuck about with bits 'n' patches, 
Fixed with ligatures 'n' springs, 
Lath 'n' plastered, swung in slings 
Skewered with little wooden matches, 
Hung with hinges, knobs 'n' latches. 

Till I lay behind me screen, 
Serious 'n' sober one day, 
Satisfied 'n' all serene, 
'Arf a man 'n' 'arf machine 
What they winds up ev'ry Monday 
'N' it tilts all ways by Sunday. 

'Ome again I'll come, a neat, 
Semi-autymatic loafer, 
Number up, 'n' all complete, 
Creakin' round on Collins Street, 
With a licence (which I'll owe for) 
My own car and my own shofer!