THE MODEN MEPHISTOPHELES
 
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In days long ago 'twas my custom you know
To dress in my own proper red
But to get my own way with you people today
I must put on disguises instead
Any booby can tell that they don't look so well
But what's a poor devil to do?
You know I got choused by that rascally Faust
And Margaret bested me too.

Chorus: It's true she went up, up, up
But most of the girls in Town
Will find their own level and go to the devil
And then they'll go down, down, down.


I bet in the ring as a regular thing
To the race course some thousands I've led
I'm sure you'd have said it did infinite credit
Alike to my Hart and my head
The 'plunger' I feel is not worthy my steel
He's a 'jubilee juggins' say I
He'll enjoy a warm place when he's finished his race
I think we may leave him to fry.

Chorus: He'll never go up, up, up
He's one of those Johnnies in Town
Who find their own level and go to the devil
And then they'll go down, down, down.


When people look sad because business is bad
I don't grumble - what would be the use?
I can always contrive here in England to thrive
For her trade has all gone to the deuce
The taxes increase though the Nation's at peace
There are plenty more taxes in store
It strikes me there may be the devil to pay
If I only can bring on a war.

Chorus: The taxes go up, up, up
But the people who pay them in Town
Want to know why the devil they don't find their level?
And sometimes go down, down, down.


I love to cause strife in political life
And to plot with my wonderful brain
So I talk of Home Rule, like a regular fool
Every time that I travel by train
I speechify hard, till cut short by the guard
When it's time for the special to go
On these journeys it's wise to assume a disguise
So I wear a big collar you know.

Chorus: That collar points up, up, up
But most of the collars in Town
Are worn on a level, like those of the devil
Or else they point down. down, down.


The Stores years ago I invented you know
Thus to ruin small tradesmen I try
Though my system was nice I found once or twice
It would fail, and I'll just tell you why
Ladies won't walk up pairs of impossible stairs
To goodness knows how many floors
So a lift is supplied and they all get inside
Whenever they shop at the stores.

Chorus: The lift takes them up, up, up
It's one of the largest in Town
When they reach a high level, they shop like the devil
And then they come down, down, down.


Though with infinite care I poison the air
There are people who can't see the joke
Fools who want to control the burning of coal
And make us consume our own smoke
But we're too wide awake to make such a mistake
In darkness and dirt we delight
It must be confessed London's quite at its best
While the fog turns the day into night.

Chorus: The fog can't go up, up, up
It descends on the people in Town
When it reaches their level, they cough like the devil
And swallow it down, down, down.
 
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Performed by Tom Squire (d. 1981)
 
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