Rudyard Kipling's "The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock"

An atrocity committed by Jim Macdonald:

You can talk o' coffee spoons


When you're sittin' in your rooms


Or wanderin' dark streets wi' bad intent


But when comin' down the stairs


You 'ad better all bewares


O' our Michelangel-wallah, Alfred 'Frock!


The arguments 'e made


Very seldom would dissuade


The colonel from decidin' what was what,


But the way 'e tied 'is tie


Made the lads shout "Harry By!"


When 'e brought the mermaids to the sentry 'ut.

An' it's 'Frock, 'Frock, 'Frock!


Why you bugger, what's that 'idden in your smock?


You go risposta fosse


Wi' your senza piu scosse!


Why's a peach stuck in your pocket, Alfred 'Frock?

The uniform 'e wore


Was 'is trousers rolled before


An' 'is hair combed down a little bit behind.


When the fog was blowin' yellow


You'd go lookin' for the fellow


An' some novels an' some teacups you would find.


We was standin' in the hall


When Prince 'Amlet came to call


An' a lord was what we needed an' right quick


So we started in to shout,


"Is there any lord about?"


When up an' came a-trottin' Alfred 'Frock

An' it's 'Frock! 'Frock! 'Frock!


Would you leave off watchin' that thrice-blessed clock?


If you don't tornass' al mondo


You can just di questo fondo


You bleedin' literary Alfred 'Frock!

'E was tellin' 'is one joke,


'Bout a showgirl an' a bloke,


When the prince 'e keeled over wi' ennui


In the midst o' some digression


'Bout the claws an' their procession


That didn't make a lick o' sense to me.


So 'e took a slice o' toast,


An' a piece o' a cold roast,


Then 'e looked for just a spot o' marmalade.


Wi' a smile a little bent


'E said, "That's not what I meant,"


An' that is 'ow 'e ended 'is tirade.

An' it's 'Frock! 'Frock! 'Frock!


You're listenin' to a string quartet by Bach!


Wi' your stream o' conscious' blather


An' an angsty long palaver


You're an influential poet, Alfred 'Frock!