Horrible Histories - Charles Dickens

I lived a happy life ‘til I was ten years old
When debt landed dad in prison and our country house was sold
Lodged with a lady in her London flat, so cold
Worked at a boot polish factory, labelling jars quite dull all told
Goodness only knows
I was a miserable soul

For a time I went to school but then I found a job
As a clerk to a lawyer, oh, it made my poor head throb
I failed to be an actor despite my loud gob
Ended up reporting speeches of the parliamentary mob
Then as everybody knows
I started writing prose

Put my life into my books
Friends and enemies and crooks
Legal bosses up they crop
In “The Old Curiosity Shop”
Fagin in “Oliver Twist”
A factory pal, you get the gist
And although my memory's quite foggy
Got Scrooge from the grave of Ebenezer Scroggie

My first book was an overnight sensation
But I drove myself too hard to enjoy the adulation
Despite my wealth, my family begged for money
I wrote of it in “Chuzzlewit” which people said was funny
Didn't sell like books before
My family still asked for more

“Little Dorrit” is a tale
About my dad in debtor's jail
While “Hard Times” tells my life
‘Bout when I tried to leave my wife
“Little Nell's” death was my poor dear
Departed sister-in-law
And “David Copperfield”, working in a factory
I must confess that that was really me

In my life, felt shamed ‘bout poverty in childhood
Wrote about sadness, suffering and fear
Also wrote about people with funny names
Bumble, Smallweed, Scrooge, Uriah Heep
And Wackford Squeers

Whilst writing “Edwin Drood”
A train crash didn't help my mood
Still I drove myself on
With readings far across the pond
Died before I wrote Drood's end
Sort of thing drove me ‘round the bend
So Dickens, take a dickens, take a bow
And Heaven knows
I'm miserable now