I sing of pretty Flora, a gem behind the bar,
At 'The Bird' in Highbury you'll find my guiding star.
She is the sweetest treasure all round, near and far,
And to speak the truth, I adore her!
Swells flock like little flies around a treacle pot,
And want to steal my fair one but don't care a jot,
They chaff and drink just to look large and fancy they're A.1.,
But they have not half a chance with little Flora.

Chorus: Pretty little Flora serves behind the bar,
Bass's bitter ales and porters;
I stand there all the day and cannot keep away,
It breaks my heart to leave my little Flora.

How I love little Flora and for hours I stand,
The proudest of the proud, the grandest of the grand.
And soon I'll place the gold ring on her tiny hand,
Yes I keep my eye on all who stand before her.
When swells they pass a joke, she says, 'Sir, don't be rude!'
And popping on a frown, declare they do intrude;
Then turning round she looks at me as just to say;
'Ah! George, you have the heart of little Flora.'


I could eat Pretty Flora, my love is so sincere,
She wants no 'Rachel' touch, her skin it is so fair.
Her eyes are full of fire and you should see her hair,
In a brooch, she carries me before her:
We've named the happy day and so I'm right for life,
If all she says be true, she'll prove a charming wife,
So am I not a lucky dog my rivals to defeat,
And drive off to church with little Flora?

Written, composed and performed by George Leybourne (1842-1884)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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