THE MAN WHO FANS THE FEMALES
by
Jack Warner

Another chap was very keen to learn about first aid
They taught him to roll bandages, and just how splints were made
But all his bandages rolled off, his splints they splintered too,
But now at last they've found a job that he can really do:

He's the man who fans the females when they've fainted
He's the fainting females fanner is friend Fred.
And he makes such gentle breezes,
Like a sparrow when it sneezes,
That his fame at fanning females far has spread.
Now our Fred has found he's got a female fan-mail
And a fan called Freckled Fan he's made his bride
He picked her for her figure
Cause she's twenty stone or bigger,
For to fan his fat fan Fan fills Fred with pride.

A POSHER-UP O' POODLES
by
Jack Warner



Of all the fine and funny occupations I recall
The job of Tommy Tucker is the funniest of all
Many ladies visit him and bring their poodles by the way,
You can see them lining up outside his street door any day:

He's a posher-up o' poodles, poms and puppies,
He's a poodle posher, nothing more or less.
But he's no know-nothing noodle
When he's poshing up a poodle
For his poodle poshing-up's a big success.
He trims their hair and tittivates their whiskers,
Then he dabs the dirty dial of every pup,
And the ladies, presents send him,
For they highly recommend him
As a poodle, pom and puppy posher-up.

A CONJUROR, A KIDDER AND A CODDER
by
Jack Warner

A chap who hangs about round here has got no job at all
He gets a kind of living standing by a vacant stall
He yells some silly gibberish that none can understand
And mystifies the masses with his tricks of sleight of hand:

He's a conjuror, a kidder and a codder,
He's a tricky box of tricks, that's very clear.
There must be magic in it,
For in less than half a minute
He can make a quart of wallop disappear.
He can conjure scores of ten-bob notes and quid 'uns
From a hat with nothing in it but a dent,
But the landlord where he lodges
Says with all his dos and dodges
He can't conjure up enough to pay his rent.

THE BLOKE THAT PUTS THE CUCK IN CUCKOO CLOCKS
by
Jack Warner

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.