Vada the meshigener fruit,
after my metzas.
She ain’t no omi,
she’s an omi-polone, sure enough,
on the national handbag,
drab because she’s got her luppers and lills
in other omis’ lattys
gettin’ in dickie’s meadow with Lilly Law.
She’s gettin’ nishta more from me,
not even with those fantabulosa ogles.
She might have a basket but she’s cod,
not very dolly and bijou in the grey matter.
Just a feele when all’s said and done,
she’ll charper a long time to find a home.
Life only gets you so far for so long
when all you got is a cartso and dish to trade
and nothin’ else to go on,
meese on the inside, shushin’.
(Click here for a page that will help you translate the Polari words and reveal the story of the poem.)