Broadside version from the Baring-Gould collection of popular literature.


I WISH THERE WAS NO PRISONS

I'm one of those fellows what gets my livin'
By taking things what isn't given
With my hand – with my hand
With my hand – With my dook
Now I started a bis'ness in Petticoat Lane
I mean I started the fingerin' game
With my hand – with my hand
With my hand – With my dook

I wish there was no prisons
I do, - I does
For the old treadmill It makes me ill
And I only steal my belly for to fill
With my hand – with my hand
I wish there was no prisons

Today I met a big fat boy
He'd a lot of peas- pudding and a penny saveloy
In his hand – in his hand
In his hand – in his dook
The pudding looked nice, it was smoking hot
I sneaked behind the kid and collared all the lot
With my hand – with my hand
With my hand – With my dook

I wish there was no prisons
I do, - I does
For oakum pickin gives me a lickin'
When I'm run in for a little bit of nickin
With my hand – with my hand
I wish there was no prisons

As I was getn' past a great music hall
I saw a kid sneak a trotter off a stall
With his hand – with his hand
With his hand – with his dook
The owner had gone for change and not seein' copper
I chucked him under the chin
And he dropped that trotter
In my hand – in my hand
In my hand – in my dook

I once met a girl she'd a perambulator
With two kids in it, one of 'em had a hot potato
In his hand – in his hand
In his hand – in his dook
As she was courting a nice young baker
I kissed one of the kids and sneaked the other's tater
With my hand – with my hand
In my hand – in my dook

Broadside from the Baring-Gould collection 'made and printed by R. Maynard, Hackney Road, E.' in a collection 'The Irish Jubilee published by H.P. Such, Printer, 183, Union Street, Borough, S.E. In 'Broadsides', p. 136

Martin