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
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