A racially-motivated sonnet to the working class

Cor blimey Charlie, how’s yer father’s?
And yer mam? Bit of ox tongue, brisket,
to go with them eels?
Take a butcher’s at this lamb.
Looking’s for free son. In yer dreams.
Got yer ration book?
‘nough change for The Guardian?
Wait there son, I’ve got some left over
lard and dripping.

You warm enough to make it back to Sidney Street?

What’s that book yer reading?
Who’s it by? Leo Toadstool yer say?

Morning Mrs Goldman, Mrs Begum. I’ve put yer orders aside. Hold yer horses, I’ll go fetch ‘em.