What Happened at the Hotel Last Night

I had only two beers.
Sometimes I have eleven, man,
then I go to sleep.
He took my plate and put it
on another table.
It was dirty, man, with flies
and bones and pieces of fat.
He called me a dronkgat,
called seven porters,
big men, men from Ulundi.
They ran in to beat me;
kicked, punched without stopping.
Then the cops came, two of them.
They took me, one at each arm,
but I had no shirt.
So the big bladdy boss man said,
"Fetch him a shirt. He can't go
through the lobby naked."
But they brought me
a shirt with no buttons;
my belly flopped all over the guests.
I shivered the whole night in tronk,
that karate cook's jacket stinking
of boiled carrots, gravy and fried eggs.
A sergeant kicked me.
"What you doing here?"
Bladdy mampara.
But he let me out.
I can go back to the hotel
but I can't take that bosstard.
I don't care about the job.
I've got a place.
It's going to rain.
I don't need these people.
Just get me my benefits.