I SH'AN'T MEND YOUR WAISTCOAT ANYMORE
 
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I'm very partial to this old red vest;
Like an old cock robin with 'is old red breast.
My mother made it from a flannel petticoat;
Today I wouldn't change it for a five pound note.
But ev'ry time I go to put it on
I'm bound to tear it somewhere.
At last my shirt front started coming out
So the Missus got the needle and began to shout:

Chorus: 'I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I've patched it 'ere, I've patched it there,
In fact I've patched it ev'rywhere.
If you go out on Sunday, you'll catch a cold I'm sure,
For you'll 'ave to walk about wiv your dicky stickin' out.
'Cos I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.

I know a lady and a week ago
With her purse I took 'er to a picture show.
We 'ad a game at 'oldin' 'ands in the dark,
Someone must 'ave spotted us and 'ad a lark.
For all at once I 'eard a funny voice;
Said I: 'That's my old woman.'
She shouted out: 'You fascinatin' brute!'
As she 'it me on the crumpet wiv 'er 'ob-nail boot

Chorus: 'I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I've patched it 'ere, I've patched it there,
In fact I've patched it ev'rywhere.
When you go out on Sunday, you'll catch a cold I'm sure,
For you'll 'ave to shoot about wiv your dicky stickin' out.
'Cos I sha'n't mend your waistcoat any more.'

Once she went and joined the suffragettes;
On the platform sat among the frog faced pets.
One night she got up on 'er feet to 'ave her say;
Said we're bound to get all that we want some day
So I jumped up and pointed to me front.
I said: 'My vest wants mendin'.'
She said: 'You wait until I get a vote.
She did the splits and shouted in a shrill top note:

Chorus: 'I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I've patched it 'ere, I've patched it there,
In fact I've patched it ev'rywhere.
When you go out on Sunday, you'll catch a cold I'm sure,
For you'll 'ave to walk about wiv your dicky stickin' out.
'Cos I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.

We 'ad a lodger and 'is name was Tom;
Used to wonder where the Dickens 'e sprang from.
One day 'e walked into the kitchen unawares,
Paid a bob deposit on the room upstairs.
When I got 'ome from work the other night
Me wife and 'im 'ad 'opped it.
She'd pinned a note on a mouldy loaf o' bread
But the only part I cried at was the part that read:

Chorus: 'I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.
I've patched it 'ere, I've patched it there,
In fact I've patched it ev'rywhere.
When you go out on Sunday, you'll catch a cold I'm sure,
For you'll 'ave to walk about wiv your dicky stickin' out.
'Cos I sha'n't mend your waistcoat anymore.

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