You must know my friend the Major,
Quite the rage in New York Town,
In the west this gay old stager,
Has procured a wide renown.
Biggest liar, can't stand fire;
Never knows to stand a drink,
Sponges, lounges, mashes, dashes,
At the ladies tips a wink,
Boozes, snoozes, struts and cruises,
Round the club till half-past-two.
Tight turn, quick march, ooh-oo-oo!

Know the Major's always stony,
Always up to sundry pranks,
Meets you and demands a pony,
Borrows it and gives no thanks.
Billiard player, not one gayer,
Very thick at Bacarat,
If he meets you, never treats you,
Gently bids you tra-la-la,
If you smite him, you can fight him,
This is what he'll quickly do,
Tight turn, quick march, boo-oo-oo!

What he's Major of, I don't know,
If his company exists,
Search and then I'm sure you won't know,
He's not in the army list.
Sundry people, who can't keep all
News they hear from day to day,
Say this gorger, was a forger,
Served his time up Sing Sing way,
And by warder, kept in order,
He'd to march, big stones to hew,
Tight turn, quick march, boo-oo-oo!

Written and composed by E.W. Rogers - 1894
Performed by Vesta Tilley (1864-1952)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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