Slang

Slang

In the street‑corner chatter, where the crowd does press,
A secret code of words, a lively, restless press—
“Cheeky” mates and “gobsmacked” tales, “sorted” and “bloke,”
All bobbing like a bobby’s hat in London’s smoke.

“Skint” the pocket, “knackered” after shift,
“Brolly” up when drizzle lifts—
We toss these nicknames, quick as fish‑and‑chips,
A vernacular that nips and flips.

From “innit” to “lad,” from “gaffer” to “geezer,”
Each phrase a badge, a token, a pleas‑
Sure, the Queen’s English sits proper and prim,
But slang’s the cheeky grin that follows him.

So let the lexicon loosen, let the lingo play—
In British taverns, on the tube, in rainy‑day
We stitch our talk with threadbare wit,
And speak the soul of streets in brit‑slang‑fit.