| TATCHO | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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Of George Sims's great hair-raiser, 'Tatcho' I'll sing 'Twill grow hair upon any and everything If your hearth-rug's worn out out put some 'Tatcho' on quick In the morn 'twill be covered with hair a foot thick Dropped on wood will make brushes, put some on your 'nut' Tho' it's bald in five minutes you'll want your hair cut So, hairless bounders, raise your hymns In praise of George Columbus Sims. Chorus: Oh, 'Tatcho'Oh, 'Tatcho' Rejoice ye bald but wary men You'll soon be regular hairy men Sing for joy, let your voices go Sprinkle some on your cranium - 'Tatcho'. Dropped on a string 'twill make boasfor ladies to wear One drop grows a settee on an old windsor chair If your dustcoat's worn out, 'Tatcho' lightly thrown on Makes a fur coat of it fit for Princes to don Just a drop fell on baby - next day, on my life He was shaving himself with an old putty knife. So, thatchless infants, raise your hymns And praise George R. Nansen Sims. Chorus: Last night I dropped some into a jug, and I swear That this morning I found it was full of jugged hair A hair mattress 'twill make of a sheet, so 'tis said But it won't wash clothes and it ain't nice spread on bread Spread on children it makes monkeys of 'em - it's true For I've 'tatchoed' ten kids and their now in the Zoo So, child-blest parents, raise your hymns And praise George H.M. Stanley Sims. Chorus: |
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| Written and composed by E.W. Rogers - 1898 | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Performed by Harry Randall (1860-1932) | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||