The other day as Jim and me,
Was sitting at our shrimps and tea,
Our conversation turned, ye see,
Upon the baby show.
Says Jim, suppose our young 'un tries,
It's just the age and just the size,
I'm certain it will gain a prize,
At this 'ere Baby Show.

Chorus: So Tootsy Wootsy's going to go,
It's going to see the Baby Show,
He's sure to win the prize, I know,
The prize at the Baby Show.

Well, Jim, says I, we must take care,
'Cos Mrs. Brown last year was there,
And to this day I 'ear 'er swear,
Agin' the baby Show.
She took 'er twins, just nine months old,
Was sure to get a prize, was told;
But law, now warn't the poor thing sold,
At last years Baby Show.


Says Jim, well now you do surprise,
You know, love, if you used your eyes;
Brown's kids could never get the prize,
At any baby show.
Well Jim, I says, I think you're right,
One of 'em is a ugly sight;
Our 'Toots' would be the great delight,
Of any Baby Show.


And so the matter we did weigh,
And Jim and I agreed that day,
That Tootsy Wootsy we'd convey,
Unto the Baby Show.
The little pet, he never cries,
They say he's got my nose and eyes,
Of course he's sure to gain the prize,
At this year's Baby Show.

Spoken - We were rather undecided whether we'd send 'Toots' to 'Ighbury Barn or Woolwich Gardings, but Jim said it should be Woolwich, 'cos 'e knows the brother a man whose son sticks bills for 'Olland; at any rate Jim 'ad a predjudis agin' 'Ighbury, 'cos 'e took Giovanelli's tip for the Derby and it turned out wrong. Well Jim, says I, 'ow do they manage them things? Oh, 'e says there's a place for the singles, one for the doubles and one for the trebles. What d'ye mean? says I. Why, 'e says, the singles is the ornary baby, the doubles is twins and the trebles is triplets. What's triplets? says I. Why, says Jim, a baby three times over. Thank goodness, Jim, I says, ourn ain't a triplet; well Jim, I says, do the babies sit in a row, in little chairs, or are they put in cradles or what? Says Jim, they're neither put in cradles or what; The mother sits behind a kind of barricade with a kid on 'er knee and a number in front what tallies with the catalogue. What? I says, numbered like a cattle show? No Jim, I says, I shall never be numbered. Well, 'e says, then you can't go. So sooner than deprive my 'Toots' of the chance of carrying off the prize, I've consented to the aggerawatin' o' my feelings and I'm going to be numbered.

Written, composed and performed by Arthur Lloyd (1840-1904)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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