Bert’s Vit

By Kay Wozencroft

Zee Bert im got these vit,

‘Im ave allus ad um I think,

But wot do irk I a bit

Is the way the buggers do stink!

It chun az im don’t wesh mind,

Imz allus in the tub

Usin the ol’carbolic

An givin iz vit a good scrub.

But nuthin do zeem to alter

The woy iz vit do pong,

If im stuck um in scented water

They udnt smell nice ver long.

Im took um to the doctor

To ex fer iz advice,

But when im took iz shoes off

Doctor keeled over –twice!

Im zent Bert to the ‘ospital

To ave zum test or another,

But once they got a whiff of iz vit

They didn’t even bother.

Zo as a last rezort

We took ee to a vet –

Well, wi a problem o’ thic zort

Thous need all the ‘elp thou con get.

Zo vet ad Bert up on iz table

An ee exed ‘im to tek off iz shoe,

Zaid im would elp if im’s able,

But wi‘in seconds im ad turned blue.

Im staggered out o’t surgery

Lookin a long way vrum well,

A gaspin’ wi’zum kind o’ urgency

An gibberin’ about the smell.

Im vinally collapsed in’t gutter

Right there in the ‘igh strit,

Last words we ‘eard ee utter

“Tell’t missus I were killed by they vit!”

Now Bert ‘im took this to ‘eart,

An feelin’ responsible like

Decided az ee would depart

An travel round t’world on iz bike.

Well im mad’ iz woy dru channel

On thic Eurostar train

An everyone as zat by im

Zaid they wuzn’t  goin thic woy again!

All told im wuz gone ver a fortnight,

Im missed out zum countries, I think,

Im didn’t need to write im wuz on iz woy wum,

I knew becoz o’ the stink!

I woke up early one marnin

To the thud o’ faintin’ ship,

Zo I didn’t need no warnin,

I knew it were Bert an iz vit!

Now I still got me a problem

But I just az to put up wi it,

Atter all zaid an done, it con be much vun

Bein Bert an avin iz vit.

Now not everybody do mind um,

The Army an’ Navy Store bloke

Do shift more gas masks than in’t war time,

It’s becoming a bit of a joke.

An az ver dealin’ wi vermin,

Zuch as rats livin’ under thee shed,

Ol’ Bert do jes shove iz vit in’t ‘ole

An rate be zoon enough dead.

It chun the stench as do get um,

They don’t wait long enough fer that,

One wiff o’ Bert’s vit do convince um

To fling their selves in front o’ the cat!

Now zum men do snore like machine guns,

An’ zum men do booze a wee bit,

So I spose I be one o’t lucky uns,

All I got to worry me’s they vit!