Take it Bob

From sheet music at Arthurlloyd.co.uk

I'm a jolly old miller, Bob Bell is my name,
And in my own village I'm well known to fame,
I've a wife and a daughter, a dear little lass,
I'm fond of them both and I'm fond of a glass,
Some say I'm too fond, well perhaps, that may be,
I try to be steady and am as you see;
But if I attempt to refuse drink a day,
I fancy the wheel of the mill seems to say,

Take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob,
That's what I fancy the mill says to me,
Take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob,
Take it Bob, take it, it's better than tea.

I've tried very oft' a teetot'ler to be,
But my mill is quite right, brandy's better than tea,
And altho', what I say, you may all think absurd;
I believe what the mill says, is right, 'pon my word.
I called on old Jones, 'bout some business you know,
And he said, Bob, a pipe and a glass, 'fore ye go;
Now, I didn't require it, believe what I say,
But although a mile off, I could hear the mill say,


Now I dreamt t'other night that Bob Bell was no more,
That he died at the age of p'rhaps forty or more;
And I heard people round me say, drinks done it's worst,
But altho' I was dead, I was dying of thirst.
A bottle of brandy close by I could see,
It was meant for the mourners, it wasn't for me;
But, as on my bed, still and silent I lay,
In the distance, distinctly, I heard the mill say,

I'm only up here for a bit of a spree, 
My wife thinks it's business between you and me; 
And you know the old saying, that never deceives, 
What the heart doesn't see, why the eye doesn't grieve. 
I must toddle at once, so goodbye to you all, 
Next season I hope I shall give ye call; 
Don't ask me to drink when I'm going away, 
Or I'm certain to fancy I hear the mill say...


Alternative last verse and chorus at monologues.co.uk

Then the jolly old wheel laughed, 'That's all in your eye,
If I said a word may the mill-stream go dry,
For the sake of your daughter, that dear little lass,
Go smash the green bottle and throw down the glass;
By water you live and by brandy you die,
So dust out the hopper and dash in the rye,
And while sacking the wheat and while taking the toll,
Sing clearly and loud like a jolly old soul.

Take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob,
That's what I fancy the mill says to me,
Take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob, take it Bob,
Take it Bob, take it, 'No never for me!'