A lot of fellows have tried hard to catch a girl of mine,
She is my only daughter and a creature quite divine.
But I am most particular, I won't throw her away,
Good girls are very scarce to get, so all my neighbours say.

Chorus: The tailor tried to catch her on the sly, on the sly,
The butcher tried to win her with his buy, buy, buy.
The Bobby dressed in blue, winks at her, oh my,
It puzzles me which one to let her marry.

First came the Licensed Victualer to win the girl divine,
He made love to my daughter in a tone more like a 'whine'.
He wished to know her horid-gin, he thought she came from Cork,
But his reports I 'bottled' up and 'branded' idle talk.


The Grocer's very 'spicy', but 'tis 'fruitless' him to please,
She does not care a 'fig' for him, he's scarcely in the 'cheese'.
The Carpenter says she's beneath his 'level' in our 'square',
I plainly mean to 'chisel' him, he 'bores' her everywhere.


The Boot-maker would give his 'awl', his ever-'last'-ing love,
He'd let her have the 'upper' hand, the poor 'sole' calls her dove.
The carriage builder 'spoke ' his mind, saying, 'Marry me in 'Spring.'
He thinks her 'handsome' so 'wheel' see if he will buy the ring.


Performed by F.V. St. Clair (1860-1922)
From Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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