I ain’t the kind of bloke as takes to any steady job;
I drives me bottle cart around the town;
A bloke what keeps ’is eyes about can always make a bob—
I couldn’t bear to graft for every brown.
There’s lots of handy things about in everybody’s yard,
There’s cocks and hens a-runnin’ to an’ fro,
And little dogs what comes and barks—we take ’em off their guard
And we puts ’em with the Empty Bottle-O!
So it’s any “Empty bottles! Any empty bottle-O!”
You can hear us round for a half a mile or so.
And you’ll see the women rushing
To take in the Monday’s washing
When they ’ear us crying, “Empty Bottle-O!”
I’m drivin’ down by Wexford-street and up a winder goes,
I sometimes gives the ’orse a spell, and then the push and me