There's a pretty little song that's been going very strong,
Called, 'The Honeysuckle and the Bee'.
It's all about a bower and an insect and a flower,
And nature and a-spooning, he and she.
Now to me it's very clear that it's such a good idea,
To extend it, wouldn't be amiss.
Is the driver of a bus, drives the masher pretty nuts
On the honeysuckle plan, he'd murmer this...

Chorus: You are my Angel, Islington and I am your Bow,
Now don't look Charing Crossly at your best Pall Mall, Soho.
I've got no Mansion, Mansion House but if you'll be my bride,
We'll wed at some Whitechapel to be on the Cheapside.

And suppose the butchers-man tried the honeysuckle plan
When love he goes to mate.
He would call the girl his joint, to his heart he'd plucky, point.
While his happiness is kid-e-neys and steak.
And the man who sells the beans and the onions and the greens,
Has the song stuck to him all the while.
If he wanted to be sweet, to the lady up the street,
He would try the bee and honeysuckle style...

Chorus: You are my pick, my pickled cabbage , I am your leek,
Don't turn so red, so redish if I watercress your cheek.
If you'll beetroot, beetroot to me although I've carroty hair.
Why not turnip and let us be a church-made affair.
Performed by Ben Albert (1876-1925)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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