by Clifford Grey & Cuthbert Clarke It's an 'ard life is furniture movin', Believe me or not, but it's true We 'aven't much use for a slacker, We works, when we works, when we do. Us chaps down at Bangem and Bashets Is noted for vigour and go But the bloke wot we took off our hats to, Was a fellow from Hoxton called Joe. He was known to his pals as the 'smasher', He stood seven feet in his socks With a fist like a shoulder of mutton, And a blow that would slaughter an ox. With furniture he was a marvel, There was nothing that Joe couldn't do If he tackled a job down at 'Ighgate They picked up the splinters at Kew. He'd walk in a room full of china, A room wot we'd been in ourselves And just glance around at the dishes, And the whole lot 'ud drop from their shelves. The way he could serve a pyanner, well... Take it from me, was a treat A minute or so with his coat off 'Ud see it in bits in the street. But fate is more strong nor wot we are, It beats us whatever we do And a simple suburban removal Provided poor Joe's Waterloo. He went to a job down at Acton, With never a hint of a storm He dealt with a 'what-not' to start with, Which left him in pretty good form. He toyed with a couple of mirrors And dropped a few jugs on the stairs Put his toe through a few of the pictures And done in some sofas and chairs. Well he'd had a pretty fair mornin' And was just about ready to go, When he noticed a small china image Which seemed like it beckoned to Joe. He went in his light 'earted manner, And careless like reached out his hand And rattled it round on the flooring, Just to see what it really would stand. It came as a bit of a stunner To see it remaining intact So he gave it another good rattle - Well, two or three rattles in fact. At first he was rather bewildered, And than he began to get wild So he gave it a kick which near maimed him, And the image just seemed as it smiled. He wasn't a chap to lose courage, He tried all he knew to be calm So he fetched it a clout with a fender, But bless you it did it no harm. We gave him the tip it was lunch time, We has ours from twelve until three But he never paid us no attention , The same when we went out to tea. It was near closing time when we saw him, The image was still lying there 'E was all sort of 'ard in his breathing, And his eyes had a fixed glassy stare. He staggered and reeled for a moment, We gave him a bit of a cheer As he made one last desp'rit effort, As filled us with horror and fear. Our hearts pretty nearly stopped beating We heard a loud crash and a fall And we saw through the bricks and the mortar, He'd busted himself clean through the wall. We picked him up out of the roadway, The image was still by his side It hadn't so much as a blemish, But Joe gave a shudder and died. Too late for poor Joe we discovered, The thing was a marvellous fake 'Twas made of some new patent metal The hardest stuff science can make. No wonder it took in our Joseph, He was dashin' 'isself on a rock He died of acute disappointment, Combined with heart- failure and shock. It's a hard life is Furniture Movin', But one thing we certainly know There's plenty of chaps wot is 'andy... But never a smasher like Joe.
The end