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THE LIGHTS OF LONDON
by Billy Bennett (Almost a Gentleman)  Just after the War... if it wasn't before A man stood outside the "Red Lion" You could tell by his clothes and the shape of his nose That his name wasn't "Shamms O'Brien". The "Sogiers" are after him—Sailors an' all There's Bookmakers too on his track... For breaking the laws of his country... Borrowing money and paying it back. And only his swateheart "Rachael" knew That he was the "Minstrel Boy" And made 'em all garp when he played the Jew's Harp And his favourite song was "OY! OY!" (Muzel toff) And he loved the Irish nation, Was proud of the Land of his birth, And when he played the Yiddisher Bagpipes, You got your money's worth! He'd thought about joining the Army But the Navy was better... they said, So he threw in his lot with the Air-Force And joined the "Boy Scouts" instead! And they led him a dance... he looked like a "Nance"... And parted his hair in the middle, But he won all the cigarette pictures they got, So they gave him the Irish ' Yiddle'. The Sign of the Four-leafed Cucumber To wear on his manly breast, Or... one half to wear in his buttonhole, He could do what he liked with the rest. Now he's "on the run", poor son of a gun, His head full of hair-oil and cunning, Till he falls exhausted on some feather-bed Even then... his nose is still running. And the Banshees chase him over the hills Like Ghosts in the pale moonlight, Even his old woman chases him, too, For his wages on Saturday night. And he hides in the rocks and the mountains Haunted with terrors so black; He only comes out in the daylight As far as the "Pictures" and back. He hid in the cabin of Mother M'cree, And laid out his plans galore, 'Til her old man came home and caught him there, And laid him out on the floor! All of a sudden the shots ring out (pip! pip!) And he's off for a ride in a cart, Tho' he offered to walk it... and get there first, All he wanted was 10 minutes start. They call him a Rebel... for washing his neck, And they're going to try him for treason, Bumping and Boring and "Swinging the Lead" And anything else in Season. And shure there's a great Irish gathering there, There's Flannigan, Flynn, Mori-arty, Smulavitch, Who'sabitch, Solly and Mo, Pat Levi—and Moysha Mc'Carthy! His lawyers are there throwing bricks in the air And Colleens all fed up and fiskey, One threw him a kiss... and in case it should miss One threw him a bottle of Whiskey! And something struck him... behind the head. And he whistled a comical tune, He didn't know whether 'twas Saturday night Or Sunday afternoon! And just as the rope was round his neck A woman rushed up, shouting, "Got yer!" She'd run all the way from Pettieoat-Lane With a free pardon... and a mottza. And as he stepped down from the platform He shouted, "The same to you!" If this is your Irish Sweepstakes Thank heaven I'm only a Jew! There's a moral to this you oughtn't to miss A moral, I said, not Schemozzle... Any brave man can alter his name But he'll still have the same old 'Schnozzle'!
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