You've heard of the Midnight Sun, and people you know have run
To Norway in the Summer-time, to see him shine in style sublime
Now London can always show a thousand of sons or so
Who shine so bright both day and night, to rest they seldom go
I belong to the Midnight Son's Society
We're more noted for our jollity than sobriety
Up the West we stroll each night until the day's begun
And all our Pa's confess they own a Midnight Son.

Chorus: The Midnight Son, the Midnight Son
You needn't go trotting to Norway
You'll find him in every doorway
You'll see him in his glory if you only take a run
Down the Strand, that's the land of the Midnight Son.

We shine in the 'Row' by day, and many a brilliant ray
We throw from out our mashing eye when duchesses are passing by
Our hats have a shine so bright, our boots a sea of light
Our diamonds rare have such a glare, they fairly blind your sight
But at night in the Palaces of Variety
We kick up a shine regardless of propriety
With the girls to supper-clubs we toddle after one
And very warm indeed you'll find the Midnight Son.


We shine over every glass, as bright as the 'sham' we pass
Until inspired too much with wine, we boys kick up an awful shine
With 'coppers' we have a bawl, and down to the ground we fall
Till home to run the Midnight Son, a handsom up they call
Some poor sons to the station by the p'lice are borne
To be fined the 'usual forty bob' next morn
Most of us reach our homes, and when the door's undone
Upon the step asleep is found the Midnight Son.


Written and composed by E.W. Rogers - 1897
Performed by Vesta Tilley (1864-1952)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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