My goodness, you do seem a miserable lot Why don't you look happy like me? Have you backed a loser, or got indigestion Or have you had gin for your tea? You may have your troubles, but try to be bright There's one consolation you've all got tonight Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia The West End Theatres have gone down a lot They seem to get wusser and wusser Some people believe comic singing is whacked I may get on your nerves and my voice may be cracked But nevertheless you can't alter the fact Things are worse in Russia One Sunday night I went out for a drink I met a stray dog at the Crown He tore a lump out of my best Sunday trousers Before I'd a chance to sit down I found when he'd gone I'd no seat left at all But I thought as I stood with my back to the wall Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia The wife then came up and went off the deep end To square her, of course, I'd to lush her She cried, "I've no needle or cotton just here" And said, "You must stop there the whole night, I fear You'll get a bad cold, but remember, my dear Things are worse in Russia. My wife had a mother and she was a cat She seemed to be fond of her too I wasn't. I hated the sight of her dial She ought to have been put in the zoo Whenever I met her or knew she was near I used to sing softly, but so she could hear Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia One Saturday night she fell under a bus And as it proceeded to crush her The wheels went right over my ma-in-law The wife, who was near, cried, "They've killed her, Oh lor" I said, "What the Dickens are you crying for Things are worse in Russia."

I cannot sing the old songs, I sung long years ago For heart and voice would fail me, And foolish tears would flow; For bygone hours come o'er my heart, with each familiar strain I cannot sing the old songs, Or dream those dreams again. I cannot sing the old songs, Their charm is sad and deep; Their melodies would waken Old sorrows from their sleep; And though all unforgotten still, and sadly sweet they be, I cannot sing the old songs, They are too dear to me. I cannot sing the old songs, For visions come again, Of golden dreams departed And years of weary pain; Perhaps when earthly fetters shall have set my spirit free, My voice may know the old songs, For all eternity.

A football match last Saturday I went to see, To have some fun was exactly what I meant, you see; So off I goes like a sporting man so dutiful, To see this game, which I reckined would be beautiful. I just got there as the referee the whistle blew, The game began and begorra! 'twas a tussle too. The Swifts got the ball and took to their gallopers, And scored 'first goal' against the Macalvenny Wallopers. At this result there was a bit of wrangling, The Wallopers swore the Swifts deserved a mangling. They claimed 'off side' and the referee, big Stevenson, Disallowed the goal, just to make the game an even one. The Swifts gave way and then to work they flew again. They captured the ball and swore they'd put it through again, One of them jumped on the Wallopers' custodian, And he lost more teeth than there keys in a melodian. The Swifts' back play and splendid power of tackling, Set their supporters a-crowing and a-cackling. 'Off side, 'on side', every side and suicide, Before half-time they were only playing two a side. When half-time came and the result was wired and cabled, sure, No goals each and a dozen men disabled, sure. Refreshments for them there were none in the Pavilion, so They went to the pub, kept by old John McGillian, oh! But when they got there a stop was put to any peace, 'Twas found that amongst them they hadn't got a penny piece. 'We must have a drink!' said big John Garrity, 'Supposing we drink what we drew today for charity.' This was agreed without any more palavering; They paid for the full of every pot the tavern in. Every member did his stomach cram, Then to the spectators they sent a telegram, Telling them themselves to go and smother, As the football was burst and they couldn't buy another. To go for the umpires each one was clamouring; They gave them what I call a very healthy hammering. The poor referee in his shoes was trembling, To see half a dozen around him assembling. He tried to escape but they shook him like a water-mouse, Closed both his eyes and left his face like a slaughter-house. Pitchers and jugs in the heat of their ferocity, Flew through the room with a lightning velocity. The boss of the pub from the place quickly hunted them, Then in the street another thing confronted them: A band of policemen seized this gang of rioters, And now they're teasing oakum for the prison-house proprietors.

Now, fellow men, I want a word or two with you It's very serious, and worst of all, it's true The fact is, the girls who used to want us years ago Can do without us now, but oh, you mustn't let them know So, if you're sitting with the pretty little dears While I'm singing put your fingers in their ears. For they can do without us, of course they can Woman can do without the man, poor man She's got a poodle that can eat and drink and fight She's got a tabby cat that stays out all the night She's got a flue that smokes and a cockatoo that swears And man can go to... Camberwell for all she cares. As lady killers once we thought we were supreme Just 'cos they let us buy them pounds of chocolate cream They'll still take our chocolates but the dream of love is o'er The up-to-date young lady won't canoodle any more Girls never try to catch your eye, when in the street And as they always kiss each other when they meet For they can do without us, of course they can Woman can do without the man, poor man She doesn't want to kiss and she doesn't want to squeeze She doesn't want to sit upon your boney knees For when she's got the home, the table and the chairs A man can go to Jericho, for all she cares. When in their little flat a couple settles down Soon they'll be a little stranger come to town The poor husband rumbles very quickly he's a dad When he comes home to see the knocker tied up with a pad And when the nurse comes out and whispers with a leer 'You'd better go away, for you're not wanted here.' Chorus: For they can do without us, of course they can Woman can do without the man, poor man She's says it's slavery to be a fellow's wife She'd absolutely be an old maid all her life And bring her children up the same, so she declares And dad can go to... Macclesfield for all she cares.

No doubt to see me you'd think I am A millionaire by the clothes I wear Think that I ride in my carriage and pair Round Leicester Square to make folks stare I've got no 'oof, but I always play spoof I'm a rickety rackety bloke I'm as happy as the Prince of Wales Although I'm stony broke. Chorus: As I go out the people shout 'Here he comes, clear the way' They think I'm a millionaire, they do From Johannesburg in South Africa They think I've got tons of the stuff in the bank But I'm stony broke you know I'm a slasher, a dasher, the up-to-date masher, I'm Percy from Pimlico. Each night you'll see me stroll the Strand I look a don, with my bridle on People all stare as I stroll along And shout, 'What ho! Where’s he sprung from?' Then in the bar, with a topper, ha, ha I'm spooning both Maudie and Nell I pinch their cheeks if I get the chance I pinch their purses as well

With my lovely husband today I landed here, By a cheap excursion train because it wasn't dear, Left me at the station, told me not to fret, While he went to look for rooms, he's looking for 'em yet. That's exactly twenty hours ago; I thought somehow he wasn't coming back, But when I do lay hold of him there's going to be some fun, I only want to get upon his track. Chorus: It ain't all honey and it ain't all jam, Pushing round the houses, a three wheel 'pram', All on my lonesome, not a bite to eat, Walking about on my poor old feet. My old man, If I could find him, A lesson I would give, Poor old me, I haven't got a key, And I don't know where I live. Fancy, twenty hours, and I haven't had a drink, I feel inclined to push the perambulator down a sink, But I think the best thing for baby, pretty lamb, Is shove it on the parish, then I think I'll pawn the 'pram'. He's done this thing many, many times, Run away and left me, what a life! I'll bet while I'm a-walking round a-looking after him, He's looking after someone else's wife.

Chorus: 'Never let your braces dangle. dingle, dingle, dangle Poor old sport, he got caught, and dragged right through the mangle Over the roller then he went, by gum And out he came like linoleum Now you've wiped your feet on his rum-tum-tum So never let your braces dangle'

Yes, you're looking fine young fellow With a gun across your arm Twas a girl when last we saw you And it filled us with alarm There were older men, much older Out in khaki lad, that day But you've left your girl behind you And we know with us she'll say Ah we're glad you've got a gun lad, glad that you're a sport There's time enough for other games, time enough to court We're proud to see you ready to do what must be done Your only aim to play the game We're glad you've got a gun You have left your girl behind you But my warrior brave and bold It's for 'Britain Home and Beauty' As it was in days of old What would be the use of loving What would loving ever bring If the clank of German sabres Down your village street should ring? Ah we're glad you've got a gun lad, glad that you're a sport There's time enough for other games, time enough to court We're proud to see you ready to do what must be done Your only aim to play the game We're glad you've got a gun

I am a bold, bad Bolshevik, to Bolsh is my delight I'm busy bolshing all the day, and then I bolsh at night I'm awfully good at murdering, and as I'm unemployed I've made a little list of those who've got to be destroyed. I'm going to murder SImpson, the undertakers man All day he's making coffins, he buries all he can I'm feeling slightly queer and if the worst came to the worst He'd bury me if I died, so I'm going to kill him first I'm going to kill our baker. I'm going to kill him dead For last night with the 'housemaids knee' I hear he went to bed I'll teach him to be decent, and kneeling on his chest I'll say, 'you had the housemaid's knee, but where was all the rest?' I'm going to kill our servant, for in the bathroom door She bored a little hole and all the family said, 'What for?' She said 'twould let the steam out and they laughed upon my life But I saw through the notion and she went and told the wife. I'm going to kill our Parson. He's got to pass away For at the local Parish Church upon my wedding day 'Twas him that made me say 'I will' - of all the dirty tricks 'Twill show you what they stoop to do for a paltry seven and six. I'm going to kill our milkman. His skull I mean to crack For in the milk this morn I found a stickleback That fish came from his own cow, I've not the slightest doubt Why doesn't he milk elephants and let me have a trout.

List to me while I tell you of The Spaniard that blighted my life. List to me while I tell you of The man that pinched my future wife. “Twas at the bullfight that we met him We'd been watching his daring display And while I'd gone out for some nuts and a programme The dirty dog stole her away, Oh yes (Oh yes) Oh yes (Oh yes) But I've sworn to have my revenge. Chorus: If I catch Alphonse Spagone the toreador, Ah, Ah, Ah, With one mighty swipe I will dislocate his bally jaw Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah, I'll fight the bullfighter I will (He will) And when I catch the bounder, the blighter I'll kill He shall die (He shall die). He shall die (I'll kill him) He shall die tid-dly-i-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti-ti He shall die, he shall die For I'll raise a bunion on his Spanish onion If I catch him bending tonight. Yes, when I catch Spagoni he will wish that he'd never been born Ah, Ah, Ah, And for this special reason my stiletto I've fetched out of porn Ah It cost me five shillings to fetch it This expense it has caused me much pain But the pawnbroker's promised when I've killed Spagoni He'll take it in pawn once again, Oh yes (Oh yes) Oh yes (Oh yes) So tonight there will be dirty work. Chorus:

Be careful of your actions in these days of chip and chaff Or else you may do something which will raise a sneering laugh If you undo your waistcoat, and say, 'Ain't it hot, by gosh?' And it should strike you that your only shirt has gone to wash (Spoken) - You must be - Chorus: As you were before, as you were before When the boys shout what a dicky masher with a roar Quickly button up your coat, and let everybody note That you are - as you were before. Supposing you are hard up, and a pocket want to pick You put on a pious look, and where the crowd is thick You dodge in, prayer book in your hand, and when a plant is found You get to business, but if he should suddenly turn round (Spoken) You must be - Chorus: As you were before, as you were before If he swears you've robbed him, his rage you must ignore Turn your eyes up piously, and let everybody see That you are - as you were before. Now if you go to court a girl and her papa is out You kiss her, and around her waist your arm soon steals, no doubt And with her head upon your chest you swear your love is true But if the door should open quick, I'll tell you what to do. (Spoken) You must be - Chorus: As you were before, as you were before If you hear a rattle or a noise outside the door Your arms are soon untwined, if her pa comes in he'll find That you are - well, as you were before. When out at night with dear old pals you get a drop too much You tell them you're quite sober, and with help you walk as such And propped against your door you stand, as straight as any die But if that door be opened, in the twinkling of an eye (Spoken) You must be - Chorus: As you were before, as you were before Some thing seems uneven as you walk upon the floor And the wife says, 'Mr T., I can very plainly see That you are - as you've been before.'

Once I was happy but now I'm forlorn Like an old coat that is tattered and torn Left in this wide world to weep and to mourn Betrayed by a maid in her teens Oh, this maid that I loved she was handsome And I tried all I knew, her to please But I never could please her one quarter so well As the man on the flying trapeze! He floats thro' the air with the greatest of ease The daring young man on the flying trapeze His actions are graceful, all girls he does please And my love he has stolen away One night I as usual went to her dear home Found there her father and mother alone I asked for my love and soon t'was made known To my horror that she'd run away Without any trousseau she fled in the night With him with the greatest of ease From two stories high he had lowered her down To the ground on his flying trapeze! He floats through the air with the greatest of ease The daring young man on the flying trapeze His actions are graceful, all girls he does please And my love he has stolen away Some months after that I went into the hall To my surprise I found there on the wall A bill in red letters which did my heart gall That she was appearing with him He'd taught her gymnastics and dressed her in tights To help him to live at his ease He'd made her assume a masculine name And now she goes on the trapeze! She floats through the air with the greatest of ease You'd think her a man on the flying trapeze Her actions are graceful, all girls she does please And that's what's become of my love

I dreamt that I dwelt on the top of St Pauls And observed a young lady from Penge She made love to Yankees and Germans and Gauls And the lies that she told were immense She kissed and she flirted with this motley crew With a gusto quite wonderous to see But I also dreamt, and that narked me the most She still claimed that she doted on me She still claimed, she still claimed that she doted on me. I dreamt that she went to where three brass balls At the corner swung high in the air And sported the trinkets and Indian shawls That her sweethearts had bought her to wear And I also dreamt and it cornered me most As she crept from the pawn shop side door She exclaimed “Though the noodles may chatter and boast What fools the men are to be sure! Oh what fools, oh what fools the men are, to be sure!” I dreamt that she married a footman named Charles Who was six foot and well in his prime But they’ve both come to grief, and at two little stalls They sell whelks at a penny a time They have ‘taters to bake and they’ve chestnuts to raost And they spend all their profits on gin But I also dreamt, and it pleased me the most That they hate one another like sin That they hate, that they hate one another like sin

Lately there's nothing but trouble, grief and strife. There's not much attraction about this bloomin' life. Last night I dreamt I was bloomin' well dead. As I went to the funeral, I bloomin' well said: Look at the black 'earse, bloomin' great 'orses. Ain't it grand, to be bloomin' well dead! And look at the corfin, bloomin' great 'andles. Ain't it grand, to be bloomin' well dead! I felt so 'appy to think that I'd popped off. I said to a bloke with a nasty, 'acking cough: Look at the mourners, bloomin' well sozzled. Ain't it grand, to be bloomin' well dead! Look at the children, bloomin' excited. Look at the neighbours, bloomin' delighted. Some people there were praying for me soul. I said, "It's the first time I've been off the dole." Look at the Missus, bloomin' well laughin'. Ain't it grand, to be bloomin' well dead! Look at me Sister, bloomin new 'at on. And look at me Brother, bloomin' cigar on. "Spend the insurance," I murmured, "for — Alack! — You know that I shan't be with you going back." Look at the florists, countin their profits Ain't it grand, to be bloomin' well dead! Now it’s all over, look at them scarpering Look at the earthworms, bloomin’ well wriggling! We come from clay and we all go back they say. So don't aim a brick — it might be your Auntie May. Look at the tombstone, granite with knobs on! Ain't it grand, to be bloomin' well dead!

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH TORY TIMES (To be said or sung at all Conservative dinners) I'll sing you a new ballad, and I'll warrant it first-rate, Of the days of that old gentleman who had that old estate; When they spent the public money at a bountiful old rate On ev'ry mistress, pimp, and scamp, at ev'ry noble gate, In the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! The good old laws were garnished well with gibbets, whips, and chains, With fine old English penalties, and fine old English pains, With rebel heads, and seas of blood once hot in rebel veins; For all these things were requisite to guard the rich old gains Of the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! The good old times for cutting throats that cried out in their need, The good old times for hunting men who held their fathers' creed, The good old times when William Pitt, as all good men agreed, Came down direct from Paradise at more than railroad speed … Oh the fine old English Tory times; When will they come again! In those rare days, the press was seldom known to snarl or bark, But sweetly sang of men in pow'r, like any tuneful lark; Grave judges, too, to all their evil deeds were in the dark; And not a man in twenty score knew how to make his mark. Oh the fine old English Tory times; Soon may they come again! The bright old day now dawns again; the cry runs through the land, In England there shall be dear bread — in Ireland, sword and brand; And poverty, and ignorance, shall swell the rich and grand, So, rally round the rulers with the gentle iron hand, Of the fine old English Tory days; Hail to the coming time! Lyrics by Charles Dickens to the tune of ‘The Fine Old English Gentleman’