Dear Old Mum - A London-Irish Lament

Let me tell you 'bout me dear old mum
How she had a brood of ten for Mother Ireland
Raise your glasses to me dear old mum
With a penny for the Pope, and forty shades of green

Eve'ry Saturday she'd laugh
As she scrubbed us in the bath
With the biggest bar of soap you've ever seen
Then on Sunday, bread and tea
Mutton dripping just for me
Times was hard, but we was happy
And hygienic

Let me tell you 'bout me dear old mum
How she brought us up like proper little Paddies
You had to hand it to me dear old mum
It's a shame I'm still quite scarred
From where she scrubbed a bit too hard
But she's the only mum I'll ever know
She's the only mum I'll ever know

Let me tell you 'bout me dear old mum
And the ten of us – or was it down to nine then
I remember how me dear old mum
Put us on the street to beg, and fled to Mother Gin

On the 'Dilly or the Strand
She could always find a man
Who could pay for any brand of Dutch Delight
While we were spat on, we were kicked
Went from seven, down to six
Some was carried off by fever, some by fighting

You might have heard about me dear old mum
How she cried that it was all the fault of England
Let me tell you how me dear old mum
Dragged me through the mud and muck
And 'ow I've never 'ad no luck
But she's the only mum I'll ever know
She's the only mum I'll ever know

So if, like me, you lost your mum
A dozen years ago
Your memory can sometimes tell you lies
But if she was an angel, or the Devil in disguise
She was the only mum you'll ever know
The only mum you'll ever know