HANGIN' 'EM OUT TO DRY
 
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In a little back room we've got a lodger who's off his dot
And he looks such a perfect toff - till his overcoat he takes off
We couldn't make out who'd washed his clothes, until a week ago
We saw him down in the back yard with some washing, don't you know.

Chorus: Hangin' 'em out to dry, hangin' 'em out to dry
There was his dickey blowing about
A little blue shirt, with the sleeves worn out
My old Dutch said, 'Look at the lodger, why
He's washing his socks in the water butt
And hangin' 'em out to dry.'

Next to us a young lady stays, and she's got some peculiar ways
Once I bet the old woman quids this young lady had got some kids
'She's awfully cruel to them,' I said, and my old gal cried, 'How?'
I said, 'Well, go and look at the kids, she's scrubbed 'em all, and now,

Chorus: She's hangin' 'em out to dry, hangin' 'em out to dry
She's pegging the kids on the line by their thumbs
And stretching 'em out till they're tight as drums.'
My old Dutch she shouted, 'Oh, ain't you fly
It's only a pair of her old kid goves
And she's hangin' 'em out to dry.'

Once I went to the Serpentine, and the water looked nice and fine
In less than a tick I took off my bats
And started to soak my 'Wanstead Flats'
I couldn't put on my boots again, so in a cab I flew
I had no towel to wipe my feet so in a tick or two,

Chorus: I was hangin' 'em out to dry, hangin' 'em out to dry
The cabby, he said, 'Why, you dirty old scamp
They'll think I'm driving a blooming tramp
Take 'em in.' - but I quickly began to cry
'I don't want a cold in my wisdom tooth
So I 'm hangin' 'em out to dry.'

I belong to the volunteers and last Summer we gave three cheers
We had to march to Aldershot, Oh, lumme, it made us hot
The Colonel said,'Boys, you'll have a drink
When all your tongues are parched
You should have spotted us after that, as on the road we marched.

Chorus: Hangin' 'em out to dry, hangin' 'em out to dry
There were a thousand tongues all in a row
Waiting to sample the 'Pongelow'
Ev'ry time we spotted a pub - oh my
We got soaking our tongues in the pots of beer
And hangin' 'em out to dry.

 
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Performed by Harry Champion (1865-1942)
From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection
 
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