Dear dirty London in the pouring rain. I wish to God I was back on the sea again. Though that belongs to the world of never will be. There was never a wilder bastard than me on the sea. I could fuck all the whores in damnation me boys. Though they wriggled and hollered and made a great noise. Then I'd drink till I stank and then drink plenty more. And I won't go down to the sea any more. But if I had ten pounds then I'd raise a loud cheer. And I'd toast all me neighbours both distant and dear. And I'd shoot back great belly-crippling buckets of beer. And a pox and a curse on the people round here. Wouldn't give you me the price of a half pint of beer. Wouldn't give you me the price of a cup of good cheer. A pox and a curse on the people round here. A man's ambition must indeed be small. To write his name upon a shithouse wall. But before I die I'll add my regal scrawl. To show the world I'm left with sweet fuck all. And when all of us bold shithouse poets do die. A monument grand they will raise to the sky. A monument made just to mark our great wit. A monument of solid shit now me boys. I met with Bill James we fought over crusts. I called him a whore and he booted me crotch. Then we shared out the jack and we thought it a treat. The compliments pass when the quality meet. The compliments pass when the quality meet. The compliments pass when the quality meet. The compliments pass when the quality meet.