Any money in writing?
No? Then you bloody starve.
Me, I’m a run a Cafe mate_
I’m a always eat.
A bloody good cafe
famous people come here:
Ivan Lendl, Anna Kournikova... Red Symons.

You marry? _No?
‘Ow you gonna get marry
witha you ‘ead down
ona piece a paper?

If topless sheila walk by
you miss her_
you looka down
ona you bloody piece a paper!

I tella you what mate
you don’t a know love.
You ‘ave the self-love: narcilepsy

anda you ‘ave the self-absorption
like a bloody Chux a super wipe
but you don’t a know love
‘til you getta you ‘ead
outa you bloody bum.

You a sad, you write about
the un’appy, ‘cos you a sad.

You gotta be like me mate:
I work, I gotta ‘ouse
I gotta missus, I gotta bambino
I gotta my ‘ealth_I got ‘appy_

amore di vita,
love of life mate.

That’s amore.

Pete Dowe

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/you-marry/