My wife's a lady doctor, and all languages she's pat in
She tells me all my ailments, but I can't make out her Latin
She says I've always got complaints, enough to form a quorum
My last attack's a rumbling in my 'custosrotulorum'
And I've got the 'Ooperzootic.'
I shan't forget the day that I fell down when at the races
She said my 'Anno domini' was fractured in two places
"Oh, dear," she said, "What will you do? You've lost your 'locus standi'
And got a chicken bone stuck in your 'modus operandi'
And you've got the 'Ooperzootic' in your parallelogram."

Chorus: Oh, I've got the Ooperzootic and I don't know where I am
I've got the 'Ooperzootic' in my 'Parallelogram'
My heart is in a wobble and my head is in a whizz
For I've got the 'Ooperzootic' and I don't know where it is.
It may be in my finger, and it may be in my thumb
It may be in the corner of my 'Pericardium'.

Instead of getting better I get worse, and worse, and worser
Through walking in my sleep last night I sprained my 'vice versa'
My wife said, "I'll soon cure you dear, I'll get 'cum grano salis,'
And then I'll rub it into your 'Aurora Borealis'
For you've got the 'Ooperzootic."
And when I felt queer in the train, she said with fear and tremblin'
"A 'cow de grass' is on your brain, right on your 'moo cows membrane'
I know just where the pains are, dear, for I, myself, have known 'em
It's like cold water running down your poor old 'magnum bonum'
And you've got the 'ooperzootic' in your 'nunquam dormio'."


One day my nose went snowy white, my wife said, "Let me rouge it."
She did, and that brought on a boil upon my 'tempus fugit'
I can't ride in an omnibus, 'cos my 'pedente lite'
Shakes up my 'ignis fatuus' and brings on 'lignum vitae'
And I get the 'ooperzootic'
My wife says I don't eat enough, she says, "You mustn't starve 0
Because, my dear, I know you've got no 'multum in your parvo'
But never, never drink too much for that could stretch your vellum
And then I'm sure your 'verbum sap' would bust your cerebellum'
And you've got the 'ooperzootic' in your 'nixey-wheezy cull'.

Written and composed by Harry Hunter & Edmund Forman - 1896
From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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