Show THE MORN MORNIN IN Town Talk This Is the tale that told In l his s halls hails ashen with rUh purple and gold Told as he sprawled In an easy chaIr Chewing cigars at a dollar doUar a pair Told with a sigh and perchance a tear As tr t rough soul showed through the tho cracked veneer I as he gazed on the walls wails thereby Where a Greuze and a Millet were hung On hIgh With a rude little print in a frame be between between tween tweenA A picture of old sh b on Im drinkin me it taste the same Though the glass Is lv fv the finest crystal fin an the liquor sUps slips down like crame An mf me Co Cockney kney footman brings It on ona ona a so art of a silver plate Sherry It is whisky Is out Iv date In me bran new over th wa way The round th corner an the tho lord archbishop to tay I ought to b wid grandeur but me tastes are ara mighty mean An rd Id rather 3 a mornin at Shanah s old Oh well do I mind th rocks an thO th field bG boyant ant The dirt floor yellow wid sawdust an anthO anth thO th walls aIls on a Theres a flat on the site mesel that the same An they called t The though I 1 wanted thO th good old name Me dinner pail under my before the tho whistle blew Id banish the drames from me eyelids wid a or maybe two An oh it was the nUgent like I have never seen Since I went for me mornin to old Ul I disremember the tell teIl you lh brand But It smiled lIke th goolden sunlight an It looked an tasted When me throat was caked wid an me head was cracked wid a blast One drink o 0 dewdrops an anaU anau aU au me troubles was past pant why as I sQ squat at on th cushIons wid a to do doIn doIn In a mornin coat lined wId velvet an ana ana a champagne lunch at 2 The memry comes like Uke a banshee rae me self and me wealth b between tween An I long for a mornin In A lined me old coat used to do Alike for mornin an evening an some sometimes times I sl slOp p In It too tooAn tooAn An divil a 0 sup iv sherry that Shanahan fear If you afford good whisky hed take you on trust for beer The gang I 1 knew thy sinator since An Murphy that mIxed th sure the pope has made him a prince You should see e em avic 0 Sundays wid fa fates es scraped an clean When the boss stood a mornin round auld I ht her comes his graces car carriage twill be time byan by bJ byAn An I dant drink me mc throat Is powerful dry For Ive got to meet the a laborer no more But those were fine times th then n lad an an to talk ot of em makes me melre sore lre An es times timOs I tell you OU when ld Id swap this Q easy SY chair An the velvet chet con coat an the footman wid Id his Sassenach nose lose In the dr cAr cArAnd And nd the lOrd archbishop lf too toot for a 0 the days das that ha habe be n For So a taste or of a mornin In |