Robb Wilton
There's an awful lot of tittle-tattle going on just now,
Well, some say this and some say that but some say anyhow.
The first sixty years are the hardest so they say,
And after that it's harder still, so shout hip-hip-hooray.
They say in 1938 we'll all be on the dole,
I've just had the private wire... so don't breathe it to a soul!

I've been a married man now, since nineteen hundred and nine,
Some say that married life's all wrong, some say that it's fine.
But after thirty years you can take the tip from me,
You can also take the missus, the lodger and the key.
And a ship to South Australia or, for preference, the North Pole,
But if you ever meet my missus, don't breathe it to a soul. 

P'raps you saw me walking int the park, the other night,
P'raps you saw me talking to a girl all dressed in white.
And p'raps you over heard me as I whispered in her ear,
'Darling, well I love... tell me, do you love me, Dear?
I put my arm through hers and said, 'Let us take a stroll.'
Well, if you followed us any further... don't breathe it to a soul!

I met a chap the other day, he said his name was Green,
And he said he liked me more than any man he'd ever seen.
He said he'd got £10,000 and might die any day
And he said he'd leave the lot to me, well... I didn't know what to say.
Just then, his keeper came and said, 'Come on... he's up the pole!
If he's left you any money, don't breathe it to a soul!
The end