SORT OF A KIND OF A...
 
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There are feelings a fellow can't always describe
And some that he cannot define
What thinks a policeman when offered a bribe
A bribe he is forced to decline
Because he has twigged his superior's eye
Is observing him close, he'll refuse
But deep in his breast comes a heart-broken sigh
When he thinks of the oof that he'll lose.

Chorus: He's a sort of a kind of a kind of a sort
Of a lost to the world kind of feeling
A dead to community, lost opportunity,
Missed a good chance sort of feeling
When a fellow says, 'Here, just a bob for some beer.'
Well, it's hard to resist such appealing
He's a most indescribable, simply unbribable,
Virtuous kind of a feeling.


When a chappie's in love, it's a marvellous thing
To see what he'll do for his girl
He will stand on his head, and he'll whistle and sing
He'll load her with rubies and pearl
He will tell her the stars in the heavens above
Shine but dim by the side of her eyes
That before he met her he was never in love
And the usual series of lies.

Chorus: It's a sort of a kind of a kind of a sort of a funny peculiar feeling
A miserable, sappy, a silly and happy ridiculous kind of a feeling
You have an idea that you look rather queer
When before the young lady you're kneeling
It's a kind of a sort of a cannot describe it
All over alike sort of feeling.


If to Margate from Sunday to Monday you go
To have a good time by the sea
After eating your dinner you fancy a row
And start off as blithe as can be
You will pull with a will, and you'll smoke a cigar
And you'll sing of a trip on the ocean
You will sigh for the life of a jolly Jack Tar
When you feel a peculiar motion.

Chorus: It's a kind of a sort of a sort of a kind of a
Go round and round sort of feeling
It's a bad dizzy head kind of wish yourself dead
Let's get out and walk sort of feeling
You have a good try to lay down and die,
Your brain is all whirling and reeling
It's a kind of a sort of a let me go home
And I'll never come out sort of feeling.


You meet a young lady you'd much like to know
Rather more cheek than discretion
You take off your hat, and you bow to her so
And fancy you've made an impression
You say, 'Miss -oh dear, I've forgotten your name
For my circle of friends is so large
You're supprised when she answers, 'Young man,
What's your game? Just be off, or I'll give you in charge.'

Chorus: You've a sort of a kind of a kind of a sort
Of a don't know where you are sort of feeling
A no size at all feeling, dreadfully small,
Quite a crushed and choked-off sort of feeling
You grin for a while in a curious style,
But you feel like a thief that's caught stealing
It's a kind of a sort of a wish the ground opened
And swallowed you up sort of feeling.
 
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Performed by W. Louis Bradfield (1866-1919
 
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