I CAN'T GET AT IT
 

I never was a greedy chap, not even when a child,
If I could not get what I liked, I own 'twould raise my wild,
But strange my taste was all for jam,with it I'd gorge myself,
But mother used to twig my game, and hide it on the shelf.
And I used to cry -

Chorus: I can't get at it, I can't get at it,
I like it though it makes me ill,
I want a bit of jam but still
I can't get at it, I can't get at it,
My mother is too fly for me when she's at home!

But now I've grown to man's estate, for work I've never cared,
I've "prossed" my meals from off my pals, oft-times I've badly fared,
Last night I had a single brown, a faggot thought I'd buy,
I dropped the "stever" down the sink, and then said, with a sigh -

Chorus: I can't get at it, I can't get at it,
I like the faggots, tho' they smell,,
But now the penny's down the well,
I can't get at it, I can't get at it,
I thought I'd have a 'buster' but it's all no go!

I joined a competition once to climb the greasy pole,
But just as I'd got halfway up, to the bottom I did roll,
The people laughed and joked and chaffed, as I grandly made one spurt,
I'd nearly reached the top, but yelled as I fell in the dirt -

Chorus: I can't get at it, I can't get at it,
The grease has spoilt my Sunday bags,
And Uncle don't lend much on rags,
I can't get at it, I can't get at it,
Will someone kindly wipe me down and take me home.

 
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Written and composed by Herbert Cole and Harry Randall - 1886
Performed by Harry Randall (1857 - 1932)
From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection
 
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