The streets are paved with mud and death,
The whores have wheezed their dying breath.
With gin and piss and blood and gold,
The grim foundations have their hold.
The babes are blue, their rags are black,
She’ll whore with child strapped to her back.
You lift her skirts and find the key
To lust and sin and misery.
This is the life of a two-penny whore.
Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore.
The gold of youth’s turned foetid brown,
The walls have all come tumbling down.
She drinks for pain, she drinks for glee,
She drinks with the hope it’ll set her free.
With lips a-snarl and eyes rolled back,
The dart will find the Devil’s crack.
A whore can weave her spell of lust,
Then cast you face-down in the dust.
This is the life of a two-penny whore.
Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore.
She’ll slit your purse and make you poor,
Then slit your throat at Satan’s door.
This is the life of a two-penny whore.
Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore.
She’ll slit your purse and make you poor,
Then slit your throat at Satan’s door.
This is the life of a two-penny whore.
Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore
With pox and stench and weeping sore.
Don’t give your heart to a two-penny whore.
