My mate Ralph’s a proud Man,
Upright, honest and pure,
But this proud and honest Man
Spent his life in the Carlisle sewer’s.
Six o’clock he’d start his shift
In the bowels of Carlisle town,
Spending his day in a beam of light
That reflected the colour brown.
Splashing along in the gutters,
Stirring up the smells,
There’s no Armani fragrance,
Not where the black rat dwells
Dinner time thank God for that,
I’m absolutely starving.
Removing his thick rubber gloves,
He pours a cup of tea,
Then slapping a sandwich in his mouth,
My missus is good to me.
Back to work a sorting, while collecting his working kit,
My mate likes being smelly and messing about in it.
But one day he came into the club, didn't smell or stink.
We found out some time later,
He’d come into a fortune,
He’d found the missing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem