Humped he stands at the corner,
Keeps time like a working man,
Never a patch on his raiment
A racing and football fan.
Polished toes upturned and sharp,
Heels to their uppers worn,
Sour contempt for all who pass
Disdain, Sarcasm and Scorn.
Off when bells for dinner ring
Back on the stroke of one,
Changing position at evening time
To bask in the rays of the sun.
Hopped to shelter when it rained,
For Sandy was light of foot,
He liked to drink good Ale,
Yet never a common Tout.
Tender his hands, Sleek and long,
Hated work it was said,
Turned a slanting eye and ran,
At the sight of a Pick or Spade.
Folk wondered how he knocked it in
Or how he made his bets,
Some said he had rich friends,
Some said it was his wits.
Sandy stood for many a year
And folk would say to me,
There stands the idler at he wall,
Tell us how can it be.
Back to index