I'm in a muddle and feel rather small
My bloke, what's lately come into some money
Took me tonight to a fancy dress ball
He dressed me up in these togs, then he told me
I should be Mary Queen of Scots
Said that I'd mix with the Lords and the Dukeses
And he'd introduce me to all the 'big pots'
But he's left me now to roam
And I don't know which way to go home.
Chorus: I'm poor old Mary, Mary Queen of Scots
I've been and lost my way
And I don't know where to stay
Miles and miles and miles I've walked
And the cold has got into my chest
Poor old Mary Queen of Scots
Is looking for somewhere to rest.
While I was jigging about in the ballroom
I came down wallop on poor Charles the First
Up rushed his missis, sweet Nell of Drury Lane
She bunged my eye with an orange that burst
Then somebody trod on my best Sunday bunion
The band all stopped playing and shouted 'Encore'
I looked as if I'd been mixed in a dog fight
Bits of me lying all over the floor
Then they caught me by the feet
Threw me upside down into the street.
Chorus:
There was my bloke, mind you, dressed up as Shylock
Splitting his sides at me, - oh what a sell
But I'll have his pound of flesh when next I meet him
And you bet I'll take some interest as well
Oh, girls! I've just left a hard-hearted policeman
'Who are yer, Missis?' the brute to me said
'Mary Queen of Scots, sir,' I answered
He said, 'You're a liar, cos I know that she's dead.'
If my chap just came in sight
I'd dance on his whiskers tonight.
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