The Lag-Time Band

The appeal of Mr W. T. Conder, governor of Pentridge, for a band for the prison, is meeting with a generous response.

We got a band at Pentridge,
    An' I tells you it's the best,
An' the music that it's playin'
    Serves to soothe the savage breast.
We got a great conductor,
    'Oo 'as music in 'is soul,
'E was 'it a bit unfortch'it
    (Account o' things 'e stole).
They sez that 'e's a fair 'ard case—
    In drink a savage brute—
But 'e's nothin' to the man
    'Oo plays the flute.

Now the fluter 'e's a daisy;
    'E was pinched fer bashin' cops.
But I tells yer 'e's a dandy
    With the way 'e works the stops.
'E's previous convictions, why,
    I tells yer they are some.
But 'e's nothin' to the cove
    'Oo beats the drum.

The drummer 'e's a burglar
    'Oo's cracked full many cribs;
But when 'e takes that ole bass-drum
    An' bangs it in the ribs,
Yer'd think 'e was a angel
    By the smile upon 'is face;
But when 'e was a free man
    'E was apt to go the pace.
'E fought, an' robbed, an' drank, an'
    spent—
'Is methods was not frugal,
    But 'e's nothin' to the bloke
    'Oo blows the bugle.

The bloke 'oo blows the bugle
    Was a forger in 'is time;
But 'is top notes is a wonder,
    An' 'is tongueing is sublime.
'E's a reg'lar born musician,
    But outside 'e's jist a hobo.
Still, 'e's nothin' to the coot
    'Oo plays the oboe.

The coot 'oo plays the oboe
    Near done in another bloke,
For 'e banged 'im with a bottle
    At a sort o' gentle joke.
It was a artful way of 'is
    To crack coves on their nappers,
But 'e's nothin' to the chump
    That claps the clappers.

The chump that claps the clappers
    Is a perfect treat to see—
'E didn't like 'is missus
    An' put poison in 'er tea.
'Is 'ome life was un'appy,
    An' 'e used to fight an' wrangle,
But 'e's nothin' to the lad
    On our triangle.

Now, that lad on that triangle
    'E is doin' time fer things
Like battery, an' bigamy,
    An' pinchin' di'mond rings.
But when 'e taps 'is instrument
    In sich a gentle way,
'Is 'eart is with the singin' birds,
    'Is thorts is fur away.
There's kindness in 'is dreamy eyes,
    There's kindness in 'is style.
I tells you that it does us good
    To see 'is kindly smile,
There's kindness in the way 'e taps
    Wot time 'is kind thorts wander—
But it's nothin' to the
    Kindness of a Conder.