We've got a bus'ness down our street.
It's a little biz that cannot be beat.
We keep a-buying up the bones and the rags,
Tatters and rags and worn-out bags.
Ev'rybody said it is a rag-a-time-a-ragshop, quite right, too!
Oh my! What a splendid business we do, do, do!

Chorus: Rags! Rags! My big sister Trixie,
When she's in the rag-shop, she fancies she's in Dixie.
I've got a fiddle and I diddle-diddle-diddle to her all day long, you see.
She keeps a-weighing up rags and the bones to the ragtime melody.

Fat Mrs. Green and fat old Jones
To our little shop keep a-bringing their bones.
We keep putting in the vacant spot
Bottles and pots and odd-job lots.
Father he's so bony, he's like a little scarecrow, thin and pale.
Mother in mistake, she's putting him upon the scale.


In that little rag shop night and noon,
While they do the biz, I'm playing a tune.
Mother keeps buying up stray cravats,
Collars and hats from sharps and flats,
And while father's buying up the skins of rabbits, I despair,
Playing while my father's customers all shout, this 'ere...

Performed by Harry Champion (1865-1942)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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