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I'll be a bloomer

(14) I'll be a bloomer


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LISTEN females all,
No matter what your trade is,
Old nick is in the girls,
The d——l's in the ladies;
Married men may weep,
And tumbie in the ditches,
Since women are resolved,
To wear the shirt and breeehes,

Ladies do declare,
A change shonld have been sooner,
The women one and all
Are going to join the Bloomers.
Prince Albert and the Queen,
Had such a jolly row sirs,
She threw off the stays and put,
On waistcoat coat and trousers,
It will be fun to see,
Ladies possessed of riches,
Strutting up and down,
In Wellingtons and breeches.

Bloomers are funny folks,
No ladies can be faster,
They say 'tis almost time,
That petticoats were master,
They will not governed be,
By peelers snobs or procters,
But take up their degrees,
As counceliors and docters.

No bustles will they wear,
Nor ftocks depend upon it,
But jerry hats and caps,
Instead of dandy bonnet,
Trousers to their knees,
And whiskers ound their faces,
A watch chain in their fob,
And a pair of her braces

The tailors must be sharp,
In making noble stiches,
And clap their burning goose,
Upon the ladies breeches,
Their pretty fingers will.
Be just as sore as mutton,
Till they have fouud the way,
Their trowsers to unbutton.

The Bloomers all declare,
That men are sad deceivers,
They will take a turn and be,
Prigs dustmen and coalheavers,
Members of parliament,
And make such jolly fusses,
Cobble up old ladies shoes,
Drive cabs and omnibusses.

Their husbands they will wop,
And squander all their riches,
Make them nurse the kids,
And wash their shirts and breeche
If the men should say a word,
Ther'll be such a jolly row sir,
Their wives will mak them sweat,
And beat them with their trowsers.

The world is turn'd upside down,
The ladies will bo tai'ors.
And serve Old England's Queen,
And be soldiers and sailors
Won't they look funny when.
They happen to get lumpey,
Or when they ride astride.
Upon an Irish donkey.

The ladies will be right,
Their husbands will be undone,
Since the Bloomers have arrived,
To teach the folks of London,
The females all I mean,
How to lay out their riches.
In Yankee Doodle doo's,
And a stunning pair of breeches.

Female apparel now,
Is gone to pot I vow sirs,
And the ladies will be fined,
That don't wear Coat & breeches,
Blucher boots and hats-
And shirts with handsome stiches,
Oh dear what shall we do,
When women wear the breeehes.

Now some will wear smock frocks
And hobnail shoes I vow sirs,
Jenny, Bet, and Sal,
Cock'd hat and woolen trousers,
Yankee Doodle doo,
Rolling in the ditches;
Married men prepare,
To buy your women the breeches.

E Hodges, Printer, Dudley st, Dials

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