You all have heard of the 'Daily Mail', sold for half a D
But there's a kind of daily male that you don't always see
From out the clubs in the morning grey
Come sunny Johnnies, who reel and sway
Off to their homes with their legs astray
Crawling home by rail
'I'm home at last, where's my key? Confound
I've lost it! Oh how my head goes round.'
And on his doorstep next morn is found the Human Daily Male.

Chorus: The Daily Male, The Daily Male
He's carousing all the night
In the dazzling halls of light
At early morn he's hanging on the rail
And the servants take the milk in and the Daily Male.

He knows the shadiest spots in town
He'll tell you in a trice
The certain losers of ev'ry race
Also their starting price
He's keen on billiards, at pool O.T.
With ballet ladies he's fresh and free
They're always asking him home to tea
(Thereby hangs a tale)
He knows the taste of all kinds of wet
Calls ev'ry barmaid he meets 'My pet.'
He never wins when he makes a bet, the Human Daily Male.


He's sold like papers where'er he goes
On 'Change he drops his tin
For like the popular 'Daily Mail'
He's always taken in
He likes the paper - he works at night
But most unlike in the morning light
That's sent out loose, and he's sent out tight
That's fresh and he's quite stale
But sure as fate when the daylight breaks
From the doorstep snoring and full of aches
With the paper indoors the servant takes, the Human Daily Male.

Words and music by E.W. Rogers - 1899
Performed by Vesta Tilley (1864-1952)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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