THEY DON'T DO THAT SORT OF THING NOW
 
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I pipe my eye for the days gone by,
What we can't now get a glimpse on
For the song and the ball at old Vauxhall,
In the days of Mister Simpson
'Mid the thousands lamps, and the thousand scamps,
I was a nightly dweller
And I did very well, in my hermit's cell,
As a regular fortune teller.

Refrain: Oh, the merry old days, and the merry old nights
Ere the early closing act had put out the lights
Oh, the jolly supper parties and the P.R. fights
But they don't do that sort of thing now, oh no
We don't do that sort of thing now. Oh no.


When Vauxhall closed then I reposed,
Till I'd only got three fardens
So I went with my bags, my beard and my rags,
To the Surrey Zoological gardens
But it did not pay I am surry to say,
What to do I could not well see
So I thought I'd adorn a corner of Cremorne,
As a figure in old Chelsea

Refrain:

But there came a last night, as they wanted the site
For improvements as they term it
So giving up my cell, when doing so well
Was another 'sell' for the hermit
At the cider cellars I, sang at Evans's close by,
But authority them to condemn meant
And I was the last droll at the famous Coal Hole
And was know as the Coal Holey Clement.

Refrain:
 
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Performed by E.D. Ward
 
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