ANOTHER ATTEMPT TO MURDER ME
 
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I'll give anybody sitting here a quid,
And yet on second thoughts I'd better not,
When I tell you this you'll tell me I'm a liar,
And say that all I've told you's tommy rot.
I was once the happiest man on all the Earth,
'Til my family with me played a game of spoof,
They kidded me to get my life insured,
Now they're trying all they know to get the 'oof'.

SPOKEN - I had no idea of having my life insured. I was a nice, strong, healthy, handsome, flat-footed fellow. My wife said to me, you'd better get insured, you never know what might happen. So I got insured for £1,000 and you wouldn't believe how hard my dear, lovely, fat-headed wife had tried to get that money. Bless her heart, she ought to be pickled... (here a brick hits the singer in the face.) She's at it again, that's her.

Chorus: There's another attempt to murder me,
A plot of my darling wife;
For days and nights, fearful sights,
Cause my liver to kick my lights;
I've - had - horrible frights,
Since I assured my life.

I took my family to the seaside for a day,
My boy said let us go out in a boat;
They accidently dropped me in the sea,
And as I sank I saw them o'er me gloat.
But somehow I got washed up on the shore,
And there I lay for hours and hours until,
I saw my wife bend over me and say,
What a lot of trouble this man takes to kill.

SPOKEN - What a shame to give her all this trouble, bless her, she does try hard. She's tried drowning, hanging, poison, dynamite... (here a great crash is heard) There you are, that's her dynamite.

Chorus:

All the neighbours have insured me for a bit,
They all come into fortunes when I'm dead;
They're pushing me under busses every day,
Or dropping big church steeples on my head.
Our clergyman's a good and pious man,
Last week a lovely sermon he did give,
He said my corpse was worth a bit to him,
So it really is a sin for me to live.

SPOKEN - He's offered anybody £50 who will do away with me and I never know (Bang! - during the above speech someone walks on, masked and fires a pistol at the singer, who drops, leaves a wreath of flowers on him and disappears... after which, the singer gets up, sings chorus, bows and exits.)

Chorus:

 
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Written, composed and performed by Tom Woottwell (1865-1941)
From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection
 
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