|
Though she came from 'umble stock, And her honest heart was beating Underneath her tattered frock. But the rich man saw her beauty, She knew not his base design, And he took her to a hotel And bought her a small port wine. It's the same the whole world over, It's the poor what gets the blame, It's the rich what gets the pleasure, Isn't it a blooming shame? In the rich man's arms she fluttered Like a bird with a broken wing, But he loved her and he left her, Now she hasn't got no ring. Time has flown - outcast and homeless In the street she stands and says, While the snowflakes fall around her, 'Won't you buy my bootlaces.' It's the same the whole world over, It's the poor what gets the blame, It's the rich what gets the pleasure, Isn't it a blooming shame? Standing on the bridge at midnight She says, 'Farewell, blighted love!' There's a scream, a splash, good 'eavens! What is she a doing of? Soon they dragged her from the river, Water from her clothes they wrang. They all thought that she was drownded, But the corpse got up and sang: "It's the same the whole world over, It's the poor what gets the blame, It's the rich what gets the pleasure, Isn't it a blooming shame?" |
Victim of a rich man's game. First he loved her, then he left her, And she lost her maiden name. Then she ran away to London For to hide her grief and shame. There she met an Army captain, And she lost her name again. "It's the same the whole world over. It's the poor that gets the blame. It's the rich that gets the pleasure. Ain't it all a bleeding shame?" See him riding in a carriage Past the gutter where she stands. He has made a stylish marriage, While she wrings her ringless hands. See him there at the theatre, In the front row with the best, While the girl that he has ruined Entertains a sordid guest. "It's the same the whole world over. It's the poor that gets the blame. It's the rich that gets the pleasure. Ain't it all a bleeding shame?" See her on the bridge at midnight, Crying "Farewell, blighted love". Then a scream, a splash, and . . Goodness! What is she a-doing of? When they dragged her from the river Water from her clothes they wrung. Though they thought that she was drownded, Still her corpse got up and sung: "It's the same the whole world over, It's the poor what gets the blame, It's the rich what gets the pleasure, Isn't it a blooming shame?" |
| Deutsche Volkslieder
| Ahnenforschung
| Ferienaufenthalt
| Folksongs
| Hymns
| Genealogy
| Pacific Holiday
| HOME PAGE
| SEARCH | Email
|