My old woman now this morning said to me
'Where would you like to be buried, Timothy?
You're insured for a hundred of the best
And you'll be shortly laid to rest
Ten pounds out of it I've got to pay
To Undertaker Binks.'
I said, 'Well you ought to have a jolly day
There's ninety pounds for drinks.'

Chorus: I do pity myself, I do
I pity myself, not half
When you've paid for the funeral and bought a bit of black
There'll be ten pounds left to be spent a-coming back
There'll be gin coming back, and whiskey
And rum for the coachman too
I'll be with you going there, shan't be with you coming back
So I pity myself, I do.

Old Bill Whittle is a sailor pal of mine
He said to me, 'Now I'm going on the brine
Please take charge of my wooden legged wife
And see she lives a sober life'
But this morning coming out of the 'Robin Hood'
She broke her wooden leg, Oh my
I knelt down to try and mend it, if I could
But she broke it off too high.

Chorus: I do pity myself, I do
I pity myself, not half
Her old man tomorrow, he's coming from the sea
He left his wife and her leg in charge of me
When he finds that she's broke her wooden leg
And her skirt's all covered in glue
And he knows I've got a splinter sticking in my thumb
Oh, I pity myself, I do.

On some barber in the neighbourhood I called
I said to him, 'I'm a going very bald
And I've got no money for a wig
Because my cranium's so big
Let me have a shilling bottle of your stuff.'
He did, and with a grin
He said, 'Tomorrow you will see a bit of fluff'
But now I've rubbed it in.

Chorus: I do pity myself, I do
I pity myself, not half
I asked for hair-restorer and he went and gave to me
A great big bottle of a patent remedy
What the girls call Bust developer,
But instead of hair, it's true
There's a funny little bump in the middle of my chump
So I pity myself, I do.

To some Music Hall I went the other night
And on the stage I saw a pretty sight
Some young lady with nothing on her limbs
And while the band played some soft hymns
I yelled out, 'What a pretty girl'
With me she made a hit
I fell head first, wallop, from the Gallery
And shouted from the pit.

Chorus: I do pity myself, I do
I pity myself, not half
When I gaze on her figure that is beautifully rare
With a little bit here and a little bit there
When I gaze on her limbs so lovely
And her dimpled arms I view
And now I've got to toddle home and look at my old girl
Oh, I pity myself, I do.
Written and composed by R.P. Weston & Fred Barnes - 1908
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