Jeremiah Jones was a West-End gent till fortune cut him dead
Jeremiah Jones to the dogs soon went when all his money fled
Then round to his old-time friends he went and their assistance sought
They promised him this, and they promised him that
And this is what he thought,

Chorus: Ev'rybody promises me something, nobody says, 'Go away.'
Ev'rybody says they'll give me something, some day, some day
When I say the fortune's dead against me
They all reply, 'Don't fret.'
Then they promise to lend, but in the end
Promises are all I get.

People pitied Jones when his shoes were broke
And promised him a patch
People pitied Jones when he begged a smoke
And promised him a match
And when to his late sweetheart's he went
Her husband came outside
And promised he'd crack Jeremiah's fat head
Then poor Jones sadly cried,


Jeremiah said, 'Well this ain't no joke, my firends all pass me by
Promises to me are always broke and, worse luck, so am I.'
And when in the lake poor Jones fell splash
A girl stood on the bank
She promised she'd throw down a rope to him
Jones gurgled as he sank,


Written and composed by C. W. Murphy and D. Lipton
Performed by Charles R. Whittle (1874-1947)
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