THINGS ARE WORSE IN RUSSIA
 
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My word, you do seem a miserable lot
Why don't you look happy like me?
Have you backed a loser, or got indigestion
Or have you had gin for your tea?
You may have your troubles, but try to be bright
There's one consolation you've all got tonight
Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia
The West End Theatres have gone down a lot
They seem to get wusser and wusser
Some people believe comic singing is whacked
I may get on your nerves and my voice may be cracked
But nevertheless you can't alter the fact
Things are worse in Russia

One Sunday night I went out for a drink
I met a stray dog at the Crown
He tore a lump out of my best Sunday trousers
Before I'd a chance to sit down
I found when he'd gone I'd no seat left at all
But I thought as I stood with my back to the wall
Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia
The wife then came up and went off the deep end
To square her, of course, I'd to lush her
She cried, "I've no needle or cotton just here"
And said, "You must stop there the whole night, I fear
You'll get a bad cold, but remember, my dear
Things are worse in Russia.

My wife had a mother and she was a cat
She seemed to be fond of her too
I wasn't. I hated the sight of her dial
She ought to have been put in the zoo
Whenever I met her or knew she was near
I used to sing softly, but so she could hear
Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia
One Saturday night she fell under a bus
And as it proceeded to crush her
The wheels went right over my ma-in-law
The wife, who was near, cried, "They've killed her, Oh lor"
I said, "What the Dickens are you crying for
Things are worse in Russia."
 
 
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