There's a fellow that lives next door to me who is learning the fiddle to play,
And he almost drives me out of my mind for he's at it the whole of the day.
Do what I will, he won't keep still both morning, night and noon,
I can't escape his confounded scrape and he only knows one tune.
Now it strikes me there are a great many more I into my song can bring,
Who prove like hime a terrible bore by playing the same old string.

Sir Wilfrid Lawson is trying his best to rob a poor man of his beer,
In Parliament he won't let it rest, and brings it up every year;
He thinks that his Permissive Bill would put an end to the Pubs,
But then you do not say, Sir Will, what you would do with the Clubs.
He can talk for hours with jocular powers, the praise of tee-totallers sing,
We shall only laugh at his foolish chaff, while he plays on the same old string.

Some people, you know, a short time ago, they had a great deal to say,
And I wonder what would become of us all, if they only had their way;
The pleasures of Republicans abroad, said they, are shown,
Well, it may suit them, it won't suit us, we'll still support the Throne;
Our motto shall be 'God save the Queen' and bless our future King,
So a fig for those who are our foes they can play on the same old string -

Now, I have a wife, who gladdens my life, and an excellent one I confess,
But like the rest of the ladies fair, she's rather too fond of dress;
The fashion's changing every day, and the milliners bills so large,
That when the time comes round to pay I can scarcely meet the charge.
Bonnets and shawls, laces and falls, they every day will bring,
But she'll still declare she's nothing to wear, and plays on the same old string.

I think you will own I've plainly shown to all assembled here,
How tiresome 'tis to meet with those who have only one idea;
For every question has two sides altho' they do not chime,
And it does not do to harp upon the same thing all the time;
If you like my strain l'll call again, but of this no more I'll sing.
Or you might say, if I longer stay, I play on the same old string.
Written, composed and performed by Fred Albert (1844-1886)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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