You'll pardon my appearance, but the fact is I'm upset
My Sunday boots I 'spouted' for a bob to make a bet
I got a decent price about a horse that ran today
That gee-gee was a winner, but the bookies, where are they?

Chorus: They've all gone, every blessed one,
All gone. Every mother's son
I have backed the winner
But the cash I have not drawn
Some 'bobbies' pinched the 'bookies'
And they've all gone.

I heard that natural history was a paying sort of wheeze
So recently I made a start to keep performing fleas
I taught them how to spar an exhibition round
And just as they were getting fat, upon my soul, I found,

Chorus: They've all gone, every blessed flea,
All gone. Hopped away from me
Just as I was learning them to sing 'John Barleycorn'
They caught the influenza and they've all gone.

I have a kindly relative, whom everybody knows
He's what they call an 'Uncle' and he minds my Sunday clothes
To see if some had quite run out I thought I would enquire
But when I reached the fatal spot my 'Uncle' was on fire.

Chorus: They've all gone, every blessed one,
All gone. Gone to Kingdom Come
Everything was burnt to death that 'Uncle' had in pawn
I haven't got a shirt on now, they've all gone.

Before I cut a wisdom tooth and tried the wedding cup
I had enough hair on my head to mop a stable up
But ever since I took a wife, who knew the way to swear
For ten long years of wedded life I haven't combed my hair.

Chorus: It's all gone, every blessed patch,
All gone. Nothing left to scratch
Talk about a bladder, and a baby when it's born
I never have my hair pulled now, it's all gone.
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