THE PRODIGAL SON
(or 'The Morning After')
by
T.W. Connor

Performed by Billy Bennett
(Almost a Gentleman)



The same old story of Women and Wine
The Night-Club's riot and laughter,
Staying out late one over the eight
And then... 'The morning after.'

Soon 'on the rocks' with holes in his socks
But too proud to ask for a loan
In counting his master's money up
He gets it mixed with his own.

He's only had half of it up 'til now
But hopes soon to have the rest.
'Fourpenny doubles' but add to his troubles
The Bookmakers still have the best.

But who's to know when his luck shall turn,
And Fortune at last shall find him
Find him standing outside the bank
With tons of money behind him.

But the Law's long arm isn't long delayed,
Some day he was sure to be caught
There's a run on the bank when it gets about
That he's ninepence ha'penny short!

Now, where are his pals of the 'BubblingCup'
Who'd been his supporters (and held him up)
'Til the day he made the fatal slip
Then like rats deserted the sinking ship?

'Twas only his Father-old and grey
With neuritis, bronchitis (and nothing to pay),
Who was there that day, his son to screen
When the curtain rose on the P'lice Court scene.

There stands the Prisoner, pale as death
Looking round at the up-turned faces
The judge walks in, he holds his breath
While his pants are held up by his braces.

And you couldn't have heard a pin drop
Carried away and all that
When a gentleman rose to prefer the charge
And sat down again-on his hat

Then the old man started his tale to tell
Of his boy in the trenches, the nights of hell
And then, to come back (it was no surprise)
To the lure of the wine, and sparkling eyes

'Give him a chance!' the old man pleads,
Tho' the case looks ever so black
Lend him a 'Fiver', and give him a chance
To get his bad character back!'

The Manager's there from the Bank prepared
To put 'old sores' on the shelf,
To give him his old job back again
And a chance to help himself.

The Judge looks stern but he's nothing to learn
About Night Clubs and Maudie and Millie
Like all the young goats, he'd sown his wild oats
In the fields around Piccadilly.

Now he's 94 but the law's the law
And tho' it gives him pain
He's there to deal out justice
When he wakes up, now and again

Addressing the lad, who's gone to the bad
His false-teeth full of emotion,
He says, 'Will you promise to give up the drink,
Or must you keep on with the lotion?'

With quivering lips, he answers not,
So the judge, once more, discourses,
If I let you free, will you promise me
That you won't back any more horses?

The sob of a girl breaks the silence
The boy hails the sound with delight
And somewhere a voice is calling,
'WHO WAS YOU WITH LAST NIGHT?'

So, pulling himself together, at last
He's upon his feet, to redeem the past.
'I promise I'll back no more horses,' he said,
'Henceforth I swear I'll BACK DOGS instead!'

Outside, his dear old mother
Is waiting to welcome her Bertie!
'Mother darling!' he cries as he falls on her neck
'Can you tell me... WHAT'S WON THE 3.30?'.