THE CABBY'S LAMENT
 
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I've driven a cab for this twenty-five year, crawl, crawl, crawl
And with it have earned both my bread and my beer, crawl, crawl, crawl
I'd leisurely walk the old horse down the Strand
And keep my eyes skimmed for a fare
Whilst in Piccadilly till crawling was stopped
Well, that was Tom Tiddlers' ground there
But the word has gone forth from the chief of police
The order we got, 'Take your hook.'
So if you want a cab in a hurry, just wait
There's only one place now to look.

Chorus: On the rank - on the rank
They're sending us all with fine sense
But on the rank - on the rank
Won't pay the old woman her nine pence
Still, whether or no, you've got to go
Or a forty-bob fine 'will be worth
You've either got to get on the rank
Or get off the blooming earth.


The game's been a regular good 'un, of course, crawl, crawl, crawl
A bob for the driver, a clout for the horse, crawl, crawl, crawl
A tanner a mile is the charge fixed by law
Which riders at times fancy hard
But don't think about what you pay for a mile
Just think what we pay for the 'yard'
The corn bills will probably wait, like the cabs
And gee-gees will know what it means
For where, with good business, they used to get oats
Most likely we'll now give 'em beans.

Chorus:

The horses can't make out the new game, I'm sure, crawl, crawl, crawl
They've never stood still for a minute before, crawl, crawl, crawl
They once did a truly remarkable feat
A seven days' go-as-you-please
Well, mine gave perpetual motion a start
But he's now got rheumaticcy knees
And the colds they have caught too, through standing about
Their joints are as stiff as a board
They've got influenza, lumbago and mumps
Well, the rank's like a hospital ward.

Chorus:
 
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Performed by Harry Tate (1872-1940)
 
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