(Parody)
And 'Little Golden Hair' they called the pet
Her teeth were pearly white, her eye-brows perfect quite
And mashers she had by the score, you bet
But soon the favoured beau - young Bertie Rotten-row
She said she'd marry, much to his delight
But on the night they wed, when Bertie home was led
He looked at his fair bride and shrieked with fright.
Chorus: Her pearly teeth were in a glass upon the mantle-piece
Her eye-brows too had given her the sack
Her bald head made Bertie stare - by the bedside stood a chair
And her golden hair was hanging on the back.
Poor Bertie's wife grew tired of him whom she'd admired
And one day said, 'I'm going a journey short
To aunt's at Stepney, dear.' but still it's very queer
To go to Stepney via Hampton Court
That very afternoon you might have seen her spoon
The lodger, and they walked till she grew tired
On a milestone painted new she sat down a tick or two
Until to journey homeward she desired.
Chorus: She smoothed her curls and told her husband aunt was far from well
And that Stepney was a spot so poor and black
But oh dear! on turning round, where she'd sat down Bertie found
She had 'Fouteen miles to London' on her back
From that day Bertie rashed up West would go and mash
While his dear wife would with the lodger roam
Till with him one fine day she calmly sloped away
But not before she'd sold the happy home
The man with whom she'd flown soon left her on her own
And one most rainy night in Leicester Square
I peeped beneath my mush, and lying in the slush
Saw Bertie's wife, poor 'Little Golden Hair'.
Chorus: She said, 'No, p'liceman, I'm not drunk - I'm very tired and ill
Fetch brandy, please - I've got the old attack.'
But her breath spoilt all her chance, and soon on the ambulance
'Little Golden Hair' was lying on her back.
A moral's in this tale - I hope it will not fail
My preaching I must beg you to excuse
Girls, don't wear wigs - take care if you want golden hair
'Peroxide', is the finest thing to use
And men who're Benedicks, oh ne'er get in a fix
By seeking maidens fresh and pastures new
If kissing you like much, then kiss your own old Dutch
Do as I say, but don't do as I do.
Chorus: For when a girl with ruby lips and golden hair you see
You feel inclined to give the wife the sack
From that kiss at once retreat, tho' 'twould be like angels sweet
All a-pouring golden syrup down your back.
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