The Hacking Song

Yes, it's tryin', Mrs Gudgits. Very tryin', as you say.
To 'ave a 'usban' on yer 'an's not only night but day.
An' so I can't go out with you, much as I wisht I could;
For me Jack is in there, gaspin' an' 'e's feelin' none too good.
With 'is ''Ack! 'Ack! 'Ack!' Lor! I bangs 'im on the back
An' 'e curses me a treat for my stoopidity.
''It a man,' 'e sez, 'wot's sick!' Oh 'is temper's awful quick,
An' it ain't so much the 'eat as this youmidity.

Oh, I tries to in-ter-est 'im in the topics of the day,
An' I reads 'im from the noos wot Musserlini 'as to say
But 'e sez, 'If Musserlini 'ad me bronkil choobs an' chest,
'E'd 'ave somethink else to think about, an' give 'is was a rest.'
Then it's, ''Ack! 'Ack! 'Ack!' till 'is face is nearly black,
But 'e manidges to say, with much acidity,
'Blowin' peaceful blokes to death - 'Then 'e stops fer want a' breath.
An' it ain't so much the 'eat as this youmidity.

Then I reads the weather forecask - all about the low an' 'igh,
An 'ow they sez most like the change is passin' Melbun by
But 'e ups an' calls 'em liars, an' 'e starts to rave an' curse.
Sez I read that bit a-purpis for to try an' make 'im worse.
Then it's ''Ack! 'Ack! 'Ack!' But, if I creeeps to the back,
'E recovers with remarkable rapidity.
An' 'e yells, ''Ere! where ya goin'? Don't you leave a man alone!'
An' it ain't so much the 'eat as this youmidity.

Yes; a woman must 'ave patience, Mrs Gudgits, as you say.
An' I knows without your 'intin', mum, that it's my turn to pay.
So you needn't cast nasturtiums; very gladly would I shout,
But, with a 'usban' like 'e is - well, 'ow can I git out?
Listen: ''Ack! 'Ack! 'Ack!' Yeh needn't yell. I'm comin', Jack!
There, Mrs Gudgits. That's the chief awkwidity:
Day an' night I must stop in; an' I do so miss me gin
Not so much because of 'eat as this youmidity.

Rate this poem:(0.00 / 0 votes)


Find a translation for this poem in other languages:

Select another language:

  • - Select -
  • 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
  • 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
  • Español (Spanish)
  • Esperanto (Esperanto)
  • 日本語 (Japanese)
  • Português (Portuguese)
  • Deutsch (German)
  • العربية (Arabic)
  • Français (French)
  • Русский (Russian)
  • ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
  • 한국어 (Korean)
  • עברית (Hebrew)
  • Український (Ukrainian)
  • اردو (Urdu)
  • Magyar (Hungarian)
  • मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
  • Indonesia (Indonesian)
  • Italiano (Italian)
  • தமிழ் (Tamil)
  • Türkçe (Turkish)
  • తెలుగు (Telugu)
  • ภาษาไทย (Thai)
  • Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
  • Čeština (Czech)
  • Polski (Polish)
  • Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
  • Românește (Romanian)
  • Nederlands (Dutch)
  • Ελληνικά (Greek)
  • Latinum (Latin)
  • Svenska (Swedish)
  • Dansk (Danish)
  • Suomi (Finnish)
  • فارسی (Persian)
  • ייִדיש (Yiddish)
  • հայերեն (Armenian)
  • Norsk (Norwegian)
  • English (English)

Discuss this Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis poem with the community:


Use the citation below to add this poem to your bibliography:


"The Hacking Song" STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 28 Jan. 2020. <>.

We need you!

Help us build the largest poetry community and poems collection on the web!

Other poems by

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis


Our favorite collection of

Famous Poets


Thanks for your vote! We truly appreciate your support.