written & performed by
Jack Warner

Jack Warner
Some people love dumb animals and some, of course, do not, 
Which brings me to a friend and to the little job he's got. 
A dog, a cat, a parrot he will help if in distress
In his present occupation he's a hero... nothing less: 

He's a puller-out o' bee-stings out o' bulldogs 
As a bee-sting puller-outer he is tough 
But the bee don't get much fun, sir 
He can only sting him once, sir, 
Though a bulldog reckons once is quite enough. 
But the backroom boys are working on the problem 
And as science is progressing by degrees 
By the time they're on the track with 
Something dogs can sting them back with 
He'll be a puller-out o' dog-stings out o' bees.
Not long ago I came across a most exclusive trade 
Nobody but a specialist could ever make the grade 
It's a purely one-man business - as is very plain to see
It's a hush-hush job - a secret - as this feller said to me: 

I'm the bloke that puts the cuck in cuckoo-clocks, cock, 
A cooker-up o' cuckoo-clocks - that's me. 
If a clock don't cuckoo proper Well, I have to go and stop her, 
And shove the cuckoo where it ought to be. 
Should the cuckoo pop out backwards from it's doorway 
Then the whole contraption's got to go in dock 
'Cos unless I get a look in, it keeps 'oo-ing' - and not cucking -
And a oo-ing-cuck clock, cock, there's no such clock.
Jack Warner
There is one occupation which I think is simply grand 
And that's to help in keeping law and order in the land 
A man I know has found a job - it's strenuous and hard
His business keeps him well in touch with good old Scotland Yard:

He's a poker-in o' peas for p'licemen's whistles,
A pea whistle poker-inner for P.C.'s. 
If he poked in a tomato It wouldn't sound vibrato - 
More a cross between a trombone and a sneeze. 
Now if coppers blow too loud and blow their peas out 
To the poker-in o' peas they quickly pop 
'Cos the Sergeant he would bristle 
If their whistles didn't whistle 
For with no whistle they're just not a proper cop.
I know a chap who's working where they're making boots and shoes 
But these untidy affairs are seldom fit to use, 
They turn out shapeless slippers, with soles of so-called crepe, 
But my pal wields a weapon which can slap them into shape:

He's a slapper-up o' shapeless, sloppy slippers. 
He's a sloppy slipper-slapper, now you know. 
For a slipper don't want tapping, 
It wants severely slapping 
To shift it to the shape it ought to go, 
Now it's soppy to be wearing sloppy slippers, 
For they slip and slop about and look a sight, 
So to make them neat and dapper 
They engage a slipper-slapper 
And the sloppy slipper-slapper puts them right.
Now there's a fine fishmonger's at the corner of our street 
And working there's the nicest chap you'd ever wish to meet. 
He's got a most peculiar job, he's at it every day, 
He just stands there and flicks a thing to keep the flies away: 

He's a fly exterminator at the fish shops, 
He's a big blue-bottle buster, now you know. 
They get flies from every nation 
And they fly in flight formation 
And make a perfect landing on the roe. 
Now in a fish shop things look very fishy 
When the flies feed off the fish before your eyes.. 
So the big blue-bottle buster 
Bangs a kind o' knuckle duster 
And hits the fish and squashes all the flies.
Now when your trade has slackened and you've got no work to do 
You have to try and think out something else to pull you through 
And a pal of mine who lost his job got quite a big idea
I'll tell you what he does to earn his 'bacca', grub and beer:

He's a do'er up o' dirty, damaged door-knobs. 
He's a dirty door-knob do'er-upper now. 
His daily routes selected 
Where the door-knobs seem neglected
And he scratches and he scrapes them clean somehow. 
Now, a door-knob should look nice and ornamented 
When it's polished it's a proper pretty sight, 
But a posh door looks a poor job 
If it's got a dirty door-knob, 
So the door-knob do'er-upper puts it right.
Now, of all the stupid jobs, well, you know I know a few 
And I know a chap who's really got a funny job to do. 
He's working in a kitchen, he's of great importance there 
'Cos he renovates the rissoles that have got the worse for wear:

He's a rubber-up and rounder-off o' rissoles' 
He's a rissole rubber-upper, get that plain,
For a rissole's like a lady 
When her looks are getting shady 
A little make-up makes them new again. 
Now a rissole when it's old looks kind of nasty 
But it doesn't when he serves it up to you 
'Cos when on your plate you find it 
With some parsley tucked behind it 
The blinking rissole looks as good as new.
Now I went to get my shoes back from a funny little shop
Where two old cobblers sit and work and never never stop
The say their work is dangerous although they're very keen
When I said to one, 'Why dangerous?' he said, 'This is what I mean:-
I'm a tacker in of tin-tacks in a shoe-shop
I'm a tic-tack tapper-inner from the South
And I have to earn me supper, so I'm tacking on an upper
And I'm holding all me tin-tacks in me mouth
And all day you'll see me sitting in the window
With a hammer hitting tin-tacks on the knob
And if I miss I mustn't hollar or a load of tacks I'll swallar
And that's the danger in a tic-tack tapper's job.'
Now there's a fellow down our street who's like an artist in a way
And his hands get stained with yellow, green, and red paint very day
And all day long with brushes he puts colour in a job
Which keeps him very busy earning many an honest bob;
'Cos he's a painter on of stripes on sticky humbugs
He's a sticky humbug striper, that's his trade
As they pass along the benches from confectionary wenches
He paints on stripes that aren't supposed to fade
But what's the use of painting silly stripes on
With this I'm sure you'll everyone agree
That the nipper's like to try 'em so they nip in shops and buy 'em
And they wipe the stripes by sucking 'em, to see. 
The end