When I was a youngster, toddling to school,
I was taught some funny things not in the golden rule.
Father used to stick some bits of paper, silly thing!
On his fingers and like this to me he used to sing.

Chorus: Two little dicky birds sat upon a wall
One named Peter, one named Paul.
Fly away Peter, fly away Paul!
Come back Peter, come back Paul.

Now that I am older, nearly every day,
I can see those silly ryhmes in quite a different way.

Chorus: Two little loving birds sitting in the park,
One named Gertrude, one named Mark.
Up came the fellow's wife and then there was a lark
Fly away Gertrude! Come home Mark!

Lots of people say that betting is a sin;
That's because they're jealous 'cos they very seldom win.

Chorus: Two little jolly boys, for a bit of fun,
Backed a horse at ten to one.
Tho' the gee-gee won they couldn't see the joke,
Fly away, bookie! came back broke!

John Bull used to rule the trade of all the earth
Till the Yankee millionaires paraded all their worth.

Chorus: Two little nations were rivals in a trade—
Yankee cheeky, John afraid,
Till from Chicago they sent some potted ham
Come back, John Bull! fly away, Sam!'

Working men of England, upper classes too,
Sent to Parliament last time a very mixed-up crew.

Chorus: Two little ministers sat in parliament,
One on ruining England bent;
But wait till next election, then we'll shout 'What ho!
Fly away, Bannerman! come back, Joe!'

British trade has long been in a fearful state;
Englishmen to foreign lands are forced to emigrate.

Chorus: Two little arguments in the House of Lords
How to clear out foreign hordes.
Let Mr. Gladstone say (that's if he's not afraid),
'Fly away, aliens! Come back, trade!"

Lately Mr. Asquith had to make a note,
Every woman thinks that she's entitled to a vote.

Chorus: Eleven little Suffragettes up before the "beak,"
Sent to prison for their cheek;
Shouting for woman's rights, they never ought to roam,
Come out, ladies! fly away home!

Accidents in England of late we've had a lot,
Driving heavy motors at a fearful rate is rot!

Chorus: One heavy motor-bus flying down a hill;
Suddenly the brakes go wrong and there's an awful spill.
When on a 'Vanguard' you must be upon your guard, of course,
Fly away, motors! come back horse!

Written and composed by Harry Leighton & George Everard - 1906
Performed by Tom Collins (sadly obscure)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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