Opening Chorus.

With our activities, no doubt you're all acquainted;
Here you see us powdered, patched, and frilled and painted.
If we appear to you to be too numerous,
By reason of our virtue you should humour us.
For our virtue and our diligence we've been appointed,
And with your blessings wish to be anointed.
Though you regard our maintenance as reck-er-less expense,
With our services the master could not possibly dispense:
'T would be useless to deny,
That so pleasing to the eye,
We could help but give the utmost satisfaction.
So our identity no longer we'll conceal from you,
In our true colours we appeal to you:

Chorus.
We are Mr. Coax's very, very personal staff . . .
Not half!
Don't laugh!
Though the nature of our work has made us cynical,
Of success we have attained the very pinnacle:
And thus perched upon the steeple,
We conceal from all the people
Our master's very complete dependence on his staff.
On his sta-aff.
They say that our increasing numbers are appalling you,
But think of all the evil names that he'd be calling you,
If, deprived of our assistance, he could offer no resistance
To each caller with a grievance.
With a grievance.
In common with the Press Association
We enjoy his confidence and approbation;
And released from our seclusion,
We impart you our conclusion
That his glamour is a delusion
To each caller with a grievance.
With a grie-vance.

page 30

We'd like to make it clear about our pedigree,
We're drawn from families of very high degree.
My father was the umpteenth Earl of La-di-dah,
And I'm his only precious daughter Denderah,
A deal in candied fruit endowed our family cellar—
An uncle's cruel jest that I was called Prunella.
But when social duties pall,
(Oh, the boredom of a Ball!)
It amuses us to serve in an emporium.
With the grace and animation of an Ariel,
We go about our duties secretarial:

Nobody But You.

(Air: "Nobody But You" .................................... "Hollywood Revue.")

Who can steer the sinking ship?
Who won't let the money rip?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.
Who will make my dreams come true?
Who will win my Waterloo?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.
Who shuns temptations of inflation
When revenue declines?
Who thinks of saving the nation
By well-intentioned crimes?
Who would kill the golden geese
To bolster up a flimsy fleece?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.

Who would like us to believe
He's too good-natured to deceive?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.
Who would like to make us dance
To a dirge intoned by High Finance?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.
Who'd like to win our affection
In the role of "Honest George"?
And with a cheerful inflexion,
Request us to disgorge?
Who would try to plant a hedge
In flower-pots on a window-ledge?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.

page 31

Who is great and grand and good?
Who treats farmers as he should?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.
Who's frightened by the London Banks?
Who dreads the pranks of Labour ranks?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.
Who should be feeding his poultry,
And poddying his lambs,
Instead of milking the public
And shearing all the prams?
Who ought to burn the blarsted bales,
And take the lead from New South Wales?
Nobody . . . Nobody but you-hoo.

"Kick in Sister."

Agitation's having a vogue,
Do let's participate . . .
Our master's such an arrogant rogue,
Make him capitulate.
Why should all the rabble have the fun?
Why can't we wield a truncheon or a gun?
We're going to kick in, sister, kick in . . .
You'll have to kick in, Mister, and grin!
Let's exploit the Communist cause;
Use your paws and send 'em cryin', flyin', dyin' . . .
Strike before it's too late.
You'll have to scream a chorus of hate . . .
Wild, wild whoop! . . .
Boop-a-doop! . . .
Leap in air and loop the loop!
You'll have to kick in, sister, kick in,
You'll have to kick in, Mister, and grin!

Deputations are fearfully swish,
(Wait till this afternoon!)
Demonstrations are simply delish,
Oh, do let's have one soon!
Let's emulate the proletariat.
Let's lynch the master with a lariat.

page 32

We're going to kick in, sister, kick in . . .
You'll have to kick in, Mister, and grin!
Dreadful desperadoes are we . . .
Slaughter oughter send 'em pleadin', bleedin', needin,'
Free Discussion's taboo,
Books on Russia are too.
We don't care . . .
Anywhere . . .
We've our share of red-hot air . . .
We're going to kick in, sister, kick in,
You'll have to kick in, Mister, and grin.

Song.

(Air: "Elizabeth.")

O, what could be more soothing
Than a quiet hand of bridge!
Well, a snappy game of poker
And some brandy ripe and rich,
In the hearty-voiced confusion
In the card room of a pub.
We prefer the chaste seclusion,
Of a quiet country club.
Well, I've got a spotted liver
And I do enjoy my sleep
Though on many points we differ
We all like drinking deep.

Chorus.
Port wine's a dam' good wine,
Feel so funny,
Feel so fine;
Red the rubies shine . . .
Here's to Auld Lang Syne!
What though the path be thorny
And weary the journey,
When half a glass of tawny
Will make the saddest smile.

There is something like perfection
In the soothing after-glow,
So conducive to reflection
And thought's swift-moving flow.

page 33

And each raconteur glories
To revel in the past . . .
We have heard the ripest stories
When the wine is flowing fast.
My dreams are always rosy
When I've had a port or two . . .
It makes you feel so cosy
When you're laid up with the flu.

What makes a Canon thaw,
Claw the floor,
And break the law?
Half a glass of port.
Then you'll see some sport.
What makes a party go,
And soul-starved spinsters shriek, "Hullo"
Big Boy, who said we were slow?
Half a glass of port,
Then you'll see some sport.

"In Autumn you All may Observe."

(Air: "There Lived a King"—G. & S.)

In autumn you all may observe
Each birdie's efforts to preserve
A nest and food enough to serve
His simple wants in winter.
This thrifty thought would indicate,
As chairman of some syndicate,
How wise to build a cash reserve
For simple wants in winter!
But as befits your station
As pillars of the nation,
'Twould be ignoble to perspire
In toil of long duration.

Chorus.
Oh, how ignoble to perspire
When wealth's so easy to acquire
In the atmosphere of bonhomie
Of a Commission of Economy!
So from now on you'll all be wise
To profit from our enterprise.

page 34

It warms the cockles of my heart
To see such ardour on my part
And know you'll soon acquire the art
Of fattening on folly.
So check your importunity,
And grasp the opportunity
Of relishing the flavour tart
Of plums and riper pickings.
So without further ruction,
By methods of induction,
A policy we'll recommend
Of stringent wage reduction.
A policy we'll recommend,
And issue our instruction
That operations all must cease
On Public Works Construction.

Song

Hullo, there, everyone,
God bless everyone
Listening-in this day.
For I have something sad to say—
Something that concerns
Everyone who earns
Five-and-six a day:
For our salvation, let us pray.
We all must be prepared to make a sacrifice . . .
Try these almond fingers, sir,
They're awfully nice.
Prayer and fasting
Cause a lasting
Ennoblement of mind:
That's why our unemployed are so refined:

Chorus.
I have an idea, so queer,
That soon you'll be dieting,
(It's better than rioting
When you're down aud out)
You'll have to live low, heigh-ho!
And taste the felicity
Of Spartan simplicity . . .
It's the only taste you'll know!
You'll find it hard to live on water
Like aspidistras do . . .
And it's hard to get a spark up on H2O.

page 35

But don't get depressed,
The rest
Will liven your tissues,
So don't mind the issues . . .
Ho-heigh, just live for to-day!

I hope that my discourse
Won't distress or cause
Any loss of sleep . . .
I hate to see shareholders weep.
For in me you see,
A man of sympathy.

"We'd So Much Rather be Dead."

Life could be fresh and free,
On a lonely island in the tropic sea.
We have found safe and sound,
A refuge from the greed and animosity.

Batter us with batons
When we help ourselves to satins;
We don't mind,
'Cos we'd so much rather be dead.
Tempt us not with victuals,
To dispense with beer and skittles,
Far above, where we're so much happier dead.
It's nice to be friends with the cherubim,
We're on visiting terms with the seraphim.
The Wage Tax cannot reach us,
And the Government can't impeach us
Far away . . . O, we'd so much rather be dead!

Paradise
S'awfully nice,
Earth could not entice us back at any price.
Without our shrouds,
Above the clouds,
We indulge in rare celestial exercise.