I AIN'T GOT NO FARVER
(or, My Little Stick)
 
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In a country lane so shady, when evening shadows fall,
This young fellow you can see, toddling along with a lump of tree,
And if some old gent or lady should chance to come my way,
I wipe the beer from my mouth, and a tear from my eye
And softly say,

Chorus: 'I ain't got no farver, ain't got no muvver,
Ain't got a wife to keep me, so wouldn't you like to lend,
Me five-bob, or double? 'cos in this world of trouble,
All I've got is this little stick with a big knob on the end.'

Oh! I do like little people, for they've got big hearts, that's why,
'Cos when I tell the tale, you bet, the littler they are the more I get.
If a kid won't part with money I soften his heart, you know,
By poking the part where he keeps his heart
And murmuring soft and low,

Chorus: 'I ain't got no farver, ain't got no muvver,
Ain't got a wife to keep me, and don't possess a friend.
So hand me, old sonny, your mamma's mangling money,
'Cos All I've got is this little stick with a big knob on the end.'

If a bloke says, 'Ain't yer working?', then I answer with a sob,
'How can I go shovelling land, or carrying the hod with this in my hand?'
Said an old swell late last evening, 'You might change this for me.'
And, it's no kid, he gave me a quid
So I answered, 'Certinglee,

Chorus: 'I ain't got no farver, ain't got no muvver,
Ain't got a wife to keep me, but at last I've found a friend.
That's one pound I owe him, and so I shall know him
I gave him a tap with my little stick with a big knob on the end.'

On a certain maiden lady once I made a midnight call,
With my stick crept round the bed, and 'tapped' her for a bit then she woke and said,
'What a nice kiss that was, Algernon! Oh, what will you do,' she sighed,
'Marry me at once, or do eighteen months?'
Then I saw her face and cried,

Chorus: 'I ain't got no farver, ain't got no muvver,
And marry you, old kite face, I'm blowed if I intend.'
Oh, you ought have heard her, a-shouting out 'blue murder'
As I ran out with my little stick with the big knob on the end.

 
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Written and composed by R. P. Weston & F. J. Barnes - 1907
Performed by Tom Woottwell (1865-1941)
From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection
 
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