Category: Songs

BILLY MUGGINS
Written and composed by Charles Ridgwell - 1906
Performed by Charles R. Whittle (1874-1947)
 
My name is Billy Muggins, but for that I'm not to blame
Some people say that I am just as silly as my name
I'm working at a factory, my work mates never mix with me
Each night they all go in the pub, while I go home and have some grub.

I'm Billy Muggins - commonly known as a Juggins
Silly Billy, that's what my friends call me
I'm quite content with my own little lot
I mean to stick to the money I've got
I'm Muggins the Juggins, and Muggins I'll always be...

I had an invitation from some friends the other day
They'd got a big card party on, so I went there to play
When I arrived 'twas plain to see, a fool, they thought, they'd got in me
But when I'd finished playing there, I'd won ten pounds I do declare.

I'm Billy Muggins - commonly known as a Juggins
Silly Billy, that's what my friends call me
When I had got their ten sov'reigns all right
Why did I get up and bid them good night?
I'm Muggins the Juggins, and Muggins I'll always be...

My brother lost a breach of promise case, and had to pay
The nice love-letters he wrote to the girl gave him away
I courted once that self-same Miss, she might have breach of promised this
Although I said she should be mine, to her I never wrote a line.

I'm Billy Muggins - commonly known as a Juggins
Silly Billy, that's what my friends call me
When she said love-letters gave her delight
Why did I tell her I could not write?
I'm Muggins the Juggins, and Muggins I'll always be...

I never stay out late at night, I never want to roam
My landlady is good to me, so Muggins stops at home
My landlord thinks it only right for him to stop out late at night
Why does he leave a chap like me to keep his missus company?

I'm Billy Muggins - commonly known as a Juggins
Silly Billy, that's what my friends call me
Why does my landlady call me a 'dear'
Treat me to 'smokes' and to bottles of beer?
I'm Muggins the Juggins, and Muggins I'll always be.
 

Baby's got a tooth
Written By J.F. Mitchell. Music By E.H. Jones.
[Early UK / US  Version from sheet music published by Oliver Ditson, 451 Washington St, New York, undated, the Levy Collection]

The sun will soon refuse to shine, we're going to lose the moon
There will be a great catastrophe, twill happen very soon,
The age of wonders has revived,
Old age will turn to youth,
And you agree that I am right when you have heard the truth…

Spoken:	The other morning I was suddenly awakened by a violent nudge from the partner of my joys,who cried "Oh, George, George dear, George you brute, put your finger in the baby's dear little mouth"....I did, and found a tooth.

George dear, George dear, would you guess the truth... 
George dear, the baby dear, bless the little youth...
Do get up and light the fire; 
Turn the gas a little higher; 
Run and tell my Aunt Maria
Baby's got a tooth.
[twice]

Now since that wonderful event the house both day and night, 
Is crowded with mamma's who come to wonder at the sight
Of baby's wond'rous primal tooth, to dance it on their knees, 
And hum their approbation like a hive' of busy bees.

Spoken: Yes,they are all busy, some are busy eating, some are busy drinking, and all are busy singing...

My wife will get up a party in honour of the day,
I dare not utter one protest, but must the piper pay;
The house from top to bottom looks as if 'twere wreck'd with bombs.
Because the kid has push'd a bit of ivory thro' his gums.

She says I am a nasty brute without an ounce of sense, 
That I think not of the honour but only the expense;
But if I must speak the honest truth before you all to-night, 
I wish the kid had kept his masticator out of sight.



Baby's got a Tooth.
[UK version c1890, from The Funniest Song Book in the World]
By kind permission of Howard & Co., 25, Great Marlborough Street, London.

WELL there, I'm so delighted, I don't know what to do,
I feel so awfully proud; now tell me wouldn't you?
I'm married just a twelvemonth,
And, to my heartfelt joy, 
Our union has been blessed
With a bouncing little boy.

Georgey, Georgey, can you guess the truth? 
Georgey, Georgey, bless the little youth!
Do get up and light the fire; 
Turn the gas a little higher; 
Go and tell your Aunt Maria
Baby's got a tooth.

Now, maybe, you would not believe how happy I did feel; 
The day I lost my mother-in-law, of course I did not squeal, 
My mind was occupied that day
With only one idea-
Twas baby's got a tooth, oh, Lor'!
The precious little dear.

I let him bite my fingers; I let him bite my thumbs;
I let him do whatever he likes—oh, bless his little gums! 
The day twas born, I ne'er forget—
It was something after this ;
Our baby's got a tooth, oh, Lor'!
Excuse a father's bliss.


BABY'S GOT A TOOTH
Copyright, 1881, by J. W, Pepper. All rights reserved.
[a US version of the Mitchell/Jones song]

I'm the father of a bouncing boy,
He looks just like his pa;
He's the picture of his mammy,
And the image of his dada.
He was eight months old the other day-
He is a noble youth;
We have been almost crazy since
He got his first front tooth.

George, dear, George, dear, can't you guess the truth?
George, dear, George, dear, bless the little youth;
Do get up and light the fire, turn the gas a little higher
Go and tell your Aunt Maria baby's got a tooth.

I went home late the other night,
And soon was sound asleep,
When suddenly I was awoke
By sounds that made me weep;
My wife she grabbed me by the arm,
And says, get up you brute.
The pride and joy of-all of us
Has got a nice front tooth.- Chorus.

Now married men take my advice:
When first you do get wed,
Don't ever try to go to sleep,
Dont ever go to bed;
But to save yourself from trouble of
The darling little pet,
Don't wait until it gets a tooth-
Buy it a nice false set.-Chorus.

The hard working snob
Written by HJ Whymark, composed by Alfred Lee

My name's Jemmy Raynor and I'm a cordwainer
Or, speaking much plainer, by trade I'm a snob
And there's no bootmaker as is more awaker
Of that I will stake a half-a-crown to a Bob 
I stick to my tether in rough or smooth weather, 
And knocks boots together as quick as can be; 
At round toes or square toes
For plump or for spare toes, 
As fashion may wear toes, there's none to beat me.

With my balls of wax, lasting tacks, soles, heels and fronts and backs, Sixpence I charge for a four-penny job, 
With my rap away, slap away, rap tap tap away,
Pleasant's the life of a hard working snob.

When weather is melting, I'm into it pelting,
A stiching, or welting, or pegging away ;
Unless it's that one day that comes after Sunday,
Well-known as "Snob's Monday," when I make a day; 
I keep up the charter, but then the day arter,
I'm quickly a starter, once more at my work ;
And when I begin it, I sing like a linnet,
And not for one minute my stiching I shirk.

Old men who go hobbling oft bring me their cobbling, 
But set to a-squabbling when I make a charge;
It makes me feel outish, for they, being stoutish, 
Have for their feet goutish, boots as big as a barge;
Some folks have big bunions, like small Spanish onions,
Their feet are such funny uns, as ugly as sin; 
To them I'm a treasure, so well I them measure,
They wear them with pleasure, and part with their tin.
 
At boots called Oxonians, also Wellingtonians, 
And likewise Napoleons, like lightning I'm quick;
A dabster at dubbin', which briskly I rub in,
At what will bring grub in, I work like a brick.
Tho' there are snobs many, who're not worth a penny, 
Can't tell difference any 'twixt awl, last, and haft ,
I work like old bellows, I'm one of those fellows, 
Who never get jealous with those of my craft.


["Snob" was originally a dialect term for cobbler before it became associated with its modern meaning.]

From Feldman's Sheet Music (personal copy)

WON'T GO
Words by Harry Castling. Music by JA Tunbridge.

A year ago our homestead was busy as a hive, 
Everybody was alive, 
And went off to work at five; 
But now nobody seems to want to earn their daily bread, 
And when it's time to go work 
They all go up to bed. 

Father's got a job and he won't go, 
Maria won't go, and the fire won't go; 
On our divan, he came there in a van, 
Is a six-foot broker's man, and he won't go. 
The hens won't lay, the cocks won't crow, 
The lodger in the attic and the clock won't go; 
And mother's got a pimple on the tip her nose, 
Oh, Jerusalem, and that won't go.

The only one who tries now is our little servant Jane 
She gets up in a hail or rain. 
Then goes back to bed again; 
Our yellow Persian cat he used to wander miles and miles 
But he's too lazy now to go 
Gamboling on the tiles

To mention work to father now, he says it makes him ill, 
Its the same with uncle Will, 
Down his spine it sends a chill; 
Once Ma was so industrious and round the house she'd buzz, 
But poulticing the pimples now is
The only work she does!

From monologues.co.uk via the Internet Archive:

I'm longing for next Monday 'cos I'm going to tie the knot
With little Georgie Puddingy-Pie, a nice young man I've got
And when the parson says the word that makes two into one
I want you all to just come round and join us in the fun.

For next Monday morning is my wedding day
When the Supper's over if the company wants to stay
Me and my Georgie we shall decline
We're going to blow the candles out at half past nine.

Now when we get back from the church, and the friends have all been in
And wished us joy and happiness in little drops of gin - hic - Oh dear
We want to both be on our own, I think it's only fair
You may be sure that we don't want a lot of people there.

Now after we've had supper, I shall soon shut up the show
I will cut them all a slice of cake, and tell 'em all to go
And when I take the Vee of orange blossoms off me head
I shall tell them all it's time that we, were fast asleep in bed.

From US Sheet Music
A Boy's Best  Friend is his Mother
Words by Harry Miller, Music by JP Skelly


While plodding on our way, the toilsome road of life,
How few the friends that daily there we meet!
Not many will stand by in trouble and in strife,
With counsel and affection ever sweet!
But there is one whose smile will ever on us beam,
Whose love is dearer far than any other,
And wherever we may turn,
This lesson we will learn:
A boy's best friend is his mother.

Then cherish her with care,
And smooth her silv'ry hair.
When gone, you will never get another;
And wherever we may turn,
This lesson we shall learn:
A boy's best friend is his mother.

Tho' all the world may frown and ev'ry friend depart,
She never will forsake us in our need!
Our refuge evermore is still within her heart.
For us her loving sympathy will plead!
Her pure and gentle smile, forever cheers our way.
'Tis sweeter and 'tis purer than all other!
When she goes from earth away,
We'll find out while we stray,
A boy's best friend is his mother.

Her fond and gentle face not long may greet us here;
Then cheer her with our kindness and our love!
Remember at her knee in childhood bright and dear,
We heard her voice like angel's from above!
Tho' after years may bring their gladness or their woe,
Her love is sweeter far than any other!
And our longing heart will learn,
Wherever we may turn,
A boy's best friend is his mother.

A certain girl once courted me called Mary Ann Maloney
Who simply talked of nothing else but love and matrimony
And tho' I often told her that to marry would not suit me
She swore unless I named the day, she'd have revenge and shoot me.

She stood behind the parlour door, then began to lock it
Glared at me. looked at the key, and placed it in her pocket
Held a pistol near my nose, gave a tiny snigger
And swore unless I married her that she would pull the trigger.*

While she stood there arms in hand, I pictured my poor mother
And thought with grief the many times I'd whacked my little brother
I closed my eyes, sank on my knees, Oh, how I craved for pardon
Expecting every moment to be blown into the garden.

'Marry me,' said she, 'Or else this weapon I will use it.'
I said, 'My dear, if that's your love, I really must refuse it
Fire away whene'er you like,' but lor, how I did shiver
Said she, 'Consent or in a trice, I'll pop it through your liver!'

I rushed and seized her tiny hand, but all my strength was needed
I tried to grasp the weapon, and at last I just succeeded
And oh, the joy I felt to think, the thing had not exploded
But when I came to look, I found the darn'd thing wasn't loaded.

* Coles Funniest Song Book in the world (c1890) has:
Held a pistol near my nose, and jumped just like a nigger
And swore unless I married her that she would pull the trigger.