Pansies (Lawrence)/Up He goes!—
UP HE GOES!—
Up I rose, my lads, an' I heard yersayin': Up he goes!
Up like a bloomin' little Excelsiorin his Sunday clothes!
Up he goes, up the bloomin' ladderabout to the giddy top!Who'd ever have thought it of that lad, apasty little snot!—
Never you mind, my lads, I left youa long long way behind.You'll none of you rise in the world like I did;an' if you did, you'd find it damn well wasn't worth it,goin' up an' bein' refined;it was nowt but a dirty sell, that's all,a damn fraud, underlined.
They're not any better than we arethe upper classes—they're worse.Such bloomin' fat-arsed dool-owlsthey aren't even fit to curse!
There isn't a damn thing in 'em,they're as empty as empty tins;they haven't the spunk of a battle-twig,an' all they can think of is sins.
No, there's nowt in the upper classesas far as I can find:a worse lot o' jujubey assesthan the lot I left behind.
They'll never do a thing, boys,they can't, they're simply fused.So if any of you's live wires, with witsto use, they'd better be used.
If there's anything got to be done, whyget up an' do it yourselves!Though God knows if you're any better,sittin' there in rows on your shelves!
An' if you're not any better,if you've none of you got more spunkthan they've got in the upper classes,why, let's all of us do a bunk.
We're not fit for the earth we live on,we're not fit for the air we breathe.We'd better get out, an' make way forthe babes just beginning to teethe.