How simple and straight forward would mans' earthly life have been
If that unlucky lady Mrs Eve, had not been seen
The trouble she has caused us since that little fruit affair
Would fill a million pages twice as large as Leicester Square
I've just been out with my gal and a lovely day we've had
But though the Sun be shining, manly buzzums may be sad
It stings yer dearest feelings and destroys yer earthly bliss
To have yer chivvy clouted just because you steal a kiss.

Chorus: But that's the wust o' gals
You never know what they're up to
Fust they will and then they won't
Then they're fidgety if you don't
And should you go too far
They rush to tell Mamma
Oh gals, Oh gals, what rummy things you are.

At six o' clock this morning I was tugging at the bell
Of number 16 Dover Street, where my dainty bud doth dwell
Expectin' her to greet me with one broad seraphic smile
I held myself up proudly and just tilted this new tile
A voice came from the window, 'What on earth, man, brings you here?
You surely must be mad or else you're full of last night's beer
I know, I said, Be early, (meaning something near to eight),
I can't come down like Venus so you fool you'll have to wait.'


Those were the two most awful hours that I on earth have spent
Receiving saucy milkman's chaff and sniffing every scent
Of busy brooms and dusters - in their dirty duties brisk
Of catching deadly ailments I that morning ran a risk
At last down came the duchess in her holiday attire
She looked so smart and lovely that I couldn't but admire
Till down the steps behind her came a warlike form in red
Her 'brother up from Aldershot' well so the beauty said.


A bitter recollection of the proverb crossed my mind
That one about 'Two's company' - it did seem so unkind
But still I 'took my gruel' like a plucked un' thoroughbred
I also took the tickets, she and I, and he in red
Our destination - Hendon, in the course of time was touched
And so was I when Sally my full purse of quiddies clutched
She made the exes awful in the gardens, at the bars
I had one ounce o' birdseye, he, the swaddle, had cigars.

Written and composed by Fred Gilbert
Performed by Herbert Campbell (1844-1904)
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