If you'll listen to my ditty, I will sing you of some pretty,
Little faces I've observed as I've been walking thro' the town.
Some that's always laughing and with everybody chaffing,
While some are long because their pockets don't possess a brown.
I've often watched a cabby when he thinks he's treated shabby,
And if he don't get double fare, it's sure to be the case,
He begins to raise a riot, and no-one can keep him quiet,
'Til he's scattered bits of skin and whiskers all about the place.

Did you ever watch a copper when he's called upon to stop a
Desperate burglar who is hard at work on entering a house,
He whistles for assistance, 'til it comes he keeps his distance,
Then they make a raid and find out it's the scratching of a mouse.
But for sake of reputation, runs some urchin to the station,
Who has never hurt a worm, in fact he never had the power,
Next morning he's enraptured, it's reported burglar captured,
And his face is in 'The Hawklet' as the hero of the hour.

There's another face I'll mention that's attracted my attention,
That's the barmaid who has got a different face for every one.
She laughs and talks so pretty to the masher from the city,
Who hides behind a great moustache that weighs about a tonne.
But how that face will alter when a navvy calls for porter,
It's, 'Here you are, come on now, where's your coin? don't mess about.'
And if she isn't civil, she's as snappish as the 'Old Nick'.
And she calls in John, the potman, for to throw the villain out.

Every sailor's got a notion when he leaves the briny ocean,
That his wife's at home and longing for the time when they shall meet,
And he hurries home to Nancy but his face, you all can fancy,
When he stumbles right across her with a soldier in the street;
Says she, 'Jack, that's my cousin.' and says he, 'That's just a dozen,
That you've introduced to me, so now good-bye, I'll tell you plain.'
Then the soldier disappears and she manufactures tears,
They have a drink and in an hour they're just as bad again.

When you go down to the races, you can spot some pretty faces,
There's the bookie black with shouting odds at double barrelled force,
'Til he makes some jossey backer put his money on a nacker,
That it takes a jockey all his time to jerk around the course.
Then you'll see some fellow losing, tear his hair out and take to boozing,
As he sees the man that won it crack a koke and pass him by,
He has no money left for drinking, so of tramping home he's thinking,
While the wind plays on his whiskers, 'Wait 'til the Clouds Roll By.'

There's a face, you couldn't miss it, tho' 'twould make you sick to kiss it,
That's the staunch teetotal lady who will tell you drink's a sin.
She has a long nose like a parrot, it's the colour of a carrot,
She says it's indigestion but her breath tells you it's gin.
Now, I'll tell you of another, it's the best I can discover,
That's a certain comic singer, who of face must have a lot.
I've no doubt you can tumble, if you don't, I mean your 'umble,
Who must have a face to stand and sing such utter Tommy rot.
Written, composed and performed by Tom Woottwell (1865-1941)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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