|COMIN' THRO' THE RYE
Such a flabby, shabby babby
In my youth was I
And though dirty, I got 'shirty'
If washing me they'd try
When ma sought a can of water,
'George, my boy,' I'd cry
'You'd better slope, or Sunlight Soap
Will come into your eye.
Getting older, likewise bolder,
I to betting took
Laid the horses on race-courses,
Made a silver book
All those who lost knew to their cost
I never did a guy
But winners found my fist around
And coming to their eye.
If while drinking you are winking
At the barmaid fair
Don't get chaffing her, and laughing
At her golden hair
Should you tell her that it's yeller
Hue is due to dye
You'd better scoot, before her boot
Can come into your eye.
When the morning light is dawning,
Auntie takes her plunge
Though forbidden, oft I've hidden,
Tin-tacks in her sponge
My eyes have glistened when I've listened
To her anguished cry
But since that date she's ne'er sat straight,
But just a bit awry.
|Performed by Herbert Campbell (1844-1904)|