It's quite the fashion now-a-days to sing about a girl
And so will I - I'll tell you why
Well, my girl is different from the rest
She never sings a plaintive tune, nor sings about the silv'ry moon
And yet, I'd like to bet, that she can hold her own amongst the best
Her grammar's rather faulty and her dress is rather loud
The letter 'h' she's always bound to miss
Still there's a charm about the girl that makes a fellow proud
And that is simply this,

Chorus: She's not a coon that hails from Carolina
She's never 'hoed the cotton' in her life
Her name is neither Chloe or Dinah
But plain Eliza, and she's going to be my wife
And she's not black, nor yet a brown girl
An up-to-date and dear-at-half-a-crown girl
She's a genuine cockney bred and born
A good old London Town girl.

She's never crossed the herring pond, excepting when she went
Along with me to Battersea
Where no sugar cane-brake ever grew
The only 'corn' she's ever cut was one that grew upon her foot
But oh - she thinks you know, that 'Honey boys' are fed on 'Honey Dew.'
She cannot play the Banjo, but she can the scrubbing brush
She's no pretence to what she never was
So, never mind yer 'Yaller gals'
I'll own without a blush that I love her - becos'

Written and composed by Charles Osborne
Performed by G.H. Chirgwin (1854-1922)
home spaceA spaceB spaceC spaceD spaceE spaceF spaceG spaceH spaceI spaceJ spaceK spaceL spaceM spaceN spaceO spaceP spaceQ spaceR spaceS spaceT spaceU spaceV spaceW spaceX spaceY spaceZ