Parody on 'I'll Stab You With A Rose.'

She lives in Charles Street, Drury Lane,
Her name is Rose O' Connor.
She sells camelias to the swells,
Calls them all 'Your Honour'.
Her eyes are black, at least one is,
The other's black and blue,
As black as any raven,
And her tongue keeps a-raving too.

Chorus: "Hold your jaw! - shut up!" you should hear her say,
To Barney of St. Giles's or else to Ninety A.
I'll strike you on the smeller,
I'll land you on the nose,
The terror of the Seven Dials,
Is Tipperary Rose.

You, perhaps, might term her masculine,
Her hair you might call carrots,
You might suggest her tone of voice was,
Not unlike a parrots.
You might remark that washing was,
As well, p'rhaps once a day,
And And she might bid you, 'Go to...' well,
Where I decline to say.


She doesn't care for anyone,
Except a boy called Barney,
And even if he speaks to her,
She bids him stay his blarney.
He will murmur she's a blooming,
As the sweetest flow'e of May,
And she will mutter in return,
"You stow your blooming say."


But though she may forget herself,
She'll not forget her station,
The one in Bow Street, she well knows,
Is oft her destination,
And even should you miss her, still,
Oh, do not deem her ill,
She's rusticating somewhere,
In connexion with a 'mill'.


Written and composed by Walter Burnot and Arthur Lloyd - 1878
Performed by Arthur Roberts (1852 - 1933)
From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection
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