We live in a rickety house, In a dirty dismal street,Where the naked hide from day, And thieves and drunkards meet.
And pious folks, with their tracts, When our dens they enter in,They point to our shirtless backs, As the fruits of beer and gin.
And they quote us texts, to prove That our hearts are hard as stone;And they feed us with the fact, That the fault is all our own.
And the parson comes and prays-- He's very concerned 'bout our souls;But he never asks, in the coldest days, How we may be off for coals.
It will be long ere the poor Will learn their grog to shun;While it's raiment, food and fire, And religion all in one.
I wonder some pious folks Can look us straight in the face,For our ignorance and crime Are the Church's shame and disgrace.
We live in a rickety house, In a dirty dismal street,Where the naked hide from day. And thieves and drunkards meet.
