While The Billy BoilsSearch(The President of the London School of Medicine recommends sleeping in the open air).
I ain’t a scientific bloke, but spare me dinkum days,If I tumble to this josser and his noo fandangled ways,Seems to me if ’e’s got enny bumps protrudin’ from ’ees ’ead,It ’e knows a good fernolorgist ’e oughter get ’em read,This doctor covey reckons as a bloke wots got a corf —Which ’e reckons might be liable to pop im sudden orf —Orter seek the clear an’ open w’en ’e slumbers and ’e snores,So ’ee’s crackin’ up the noo prescription —Dossin’ outer doors!
“It’s wrong” sez ’e. “to go ter bed in enny room at all,It’s wrong ter ’ave a ceilin’ and it’s wrong to ave a wall,It’s wrong ter ’ave a winder shut, it’s wrong to drore the blind,”An’ a lot of wise flapdoodle of a sim’lar sorter kind.I dunno ’ow they come at it, but strike me fat they do!Just as if they was a rabbit or a crimson kangaroo.They talk about their oxygin an’ Natcher’s guidin’ lors,But I reckon there’s a push of lizards —Dossin’ outer doors!
If they really want to test it, let ’em come along o’ me,W’en I’m trampin’ for me tucker an’ I’m stony through a spree.Let ’em crouch beside a cow-shed when the rain is drizzlin’ down,An’ there’s twenty-mile o’ mud before you strike the nearest town.Let ’em prospect in the mulga where the ants get in yer ’air,While the prad walks on yer phizog just to let yer know ’ees there,An’ w’en the niggers sneak yer gin, yer blanket, an’ yer stores,You’ll reckon things is pretty onkus —Dossin’ outer doors!
Look me up, down an’ sideways, look at me an’ look agin,Me, ’oos been a-dossin’ out since I was old enough to sin.An’ wot’s it done for me that I should join the gen’ral ’owl,Agin a bit o’ shelter wot you ’ave to give a fowl?’As it gimme quids or di’monds? ’As it even gimme beer?No, it ’asn’t, though I’ve been at it for nearly forty year.But it’s gimme grass-seed in me pants and gravel in me pores,So I’m up agin this noo-fandangled —Dossin’ outer doors!