A grave image,
She feels this is according to Hoyle
That I’m her house and home
Nothing you say to her
To let her give the houseroom
I pretend to be her fighting groom
I’m can’t speak Dutch but to her I do
I must proclaim from the housetops
Before it becomes too late to get my ass up
That I didn’t get on like a house on fire
Been a liar
Can’t be her reliable tire
Even when I serve her tea
I can’t dot the I’s and cross the t’s
Living in my hump, she cry, I’m all right Jack.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem