Oh Father, dear Father, come home with me now
We want your new trousers to pawn
You promised dear Father, that you would come home
As soon as your wages were gone
The tea in the teapot's too weak to come out
And poor little Sal's got the croup
And Mother has taken the nails from your boots
To make you some nice hob-nail soup
Come home, come home, come home.

Chorus: For the brokers are hanging on the back-yard wall
Waiting for two pounds two
And the poor little bantam in the rabbit hutch
Hasn't got the strength to cock-a-doodle-do-do-do-do
The cat and the lodger have shot the moon
The poodle's ate the small tooth comb
Mother's got the rolling pin, waiting for you to come in
So Father, Father, do come home.

Our old chimney pot refuses to smoke
And says it could do with a chew
We've propped up the table with bundles of wood
And Ma's put the legs in the stew
The broker's man threatens to call in the police
If he cannot doss in the yard
This morning at him I threw our only fork
It stuck in his bladder of lard
Come home, come home, come home.


Poor Benny is boozed, and he can't get about
His wooden leg's fell down the plug
And poor little John was a dirty boy, so
He's having a bath in a jug
The fire's gone outside to look for some coke
The baby has swallowed a tack
And Mother has pawned Tommy's evening dress suit
So he's gone to the ball in a sack
Come home, come home, come home.


Now poor little Carlo ain't got any meat
His hair's coming out by the root
And Molly is cutting your Sunday socks up
To make little Sammy a suit
The clock, like the butcher, refuses to tick
The boiler has threatened to burst
The poor little fleas have all packed up their trunks
And scooted next door in disgust
Come home, come home, come home.


Written and composed by Harry Castling - 1894
Performed by Mark Milton
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