I'm the Smartest

Sheriff Arnett—
Oh the roughenest, toughenest, cussn'est Sheriff am I
I'm slicker on the licker than a digger when he's riding high
When I get dry start reach for your dough
Set' em up Joe, set 'em up Joe, set 'em up Joe.

I prime any crime worth a dime with the inside gen
And profit in the pocket when they cough it or
I clap 'em in the pen
There they can stay till I get my way
Yippee-i-ay, yippee-i-ay, yippee-i-ay!

When Rustlers rouse my spleen and I get keen
Know that I will getcha
That's unless you fetcha me the drink, Gink

I'm the rootenest tootenest lootenest outlaw crew
I'm hot as a shot and I pop 'em off fast'n you
This last on the draw
I get 'em for sure.

Chorus—
Hell a bore! Hell what a bore! Hell what a bore!

Bemused, Backward and Befuddled

Sid—
I'm a fool and don't I know it
Sidney Holland is my name.
I'm a dope and don't I show it
Lacking mind and brain.
Failure is a new sensation
I've done pretty well I think
So this bloody revolution puts me on the brink.

I'm mild again
Beguiled again
A whimpering simpering child again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I

They're vaxed again,
Perplaxed again
They say that they're overtaxed again
Bewitched, bothered and bewildered are they.
Lost support and I hate it
My mistake I agree
Offer help and I'll take it
Alas! the blame's on me.
I'll hate to see.
Them take from me
And replace the homburg that clings to me
Bewitched bothered and bewildered am I.

Sweet Fanny Arnett

Fanny—
Oh, the gods made me wiry, made me firy and hot;
And my belly is strengthened with lead.
Give me rum and some whisky and I'll never get shot,
But sprout gin-soaked whiskers instead.

I'm sharp as a cactus,
In sin I don't need practice,
And I flirt like the Mae Wests do.
Strip right down to my girdle.
Convention ain't no hurdle—
I'm the Hot in the Heat of the West.

I lack social know-hows
The toothpaste, soap and towels,
And I ain't had a shower in years
Whiskey's my lubrication,
I won't need vacination.
I'm the Hot in the Heat of West.

I know all about them.
The rules and how to flout them
Alcohol and the facts of life.
Give me whisky and water
I'll not do what I oughta
I'm the Hot in the Heat of West.

Respectable Country

Chorus—
Roll out the barrel
Lets have a barrel of rum,
Sing a rousing carol—
There's really no need to feel glum,
Whatever your apparel
From whatever country you come
Roll out the barrel
Lets have a barrel of rum.

Sheriff—
None of this behaviour from now on. We are going to New Zealand—a respectable country.

Crook—
Lets milk the moas
Lets drink the cup of stale beer
Dig the toheroas,
Slaughter the kaka and kea,
Do not let them show us
The lead in a drinkin's affray—
Lets milk the moas
And banish our trouble today.

New Zealand here we Come!

Sheriff—
Where'm I goin' I don't know
Where'm I headin', I ain't certain
All I know is I am on my way,

When will we be there, we don't know
When will we get there, we ain't certain.
All we know is we are on our way.
Got a dream boy?
Got a song,
Grab your girlie
And come along!

Where'm we goin', we don't know
When will we get there, we ain't certain.
What will we get, we ain't equipped to say.
But who gives a dam' . . .
We're on our way!

—And don't Say we didn't Warn you

Yippy ay, as we go from the West,
Look-a-hoy, here we come, old N.Z.
Yippy ay, as we go from the West
Have some fun, with a gun, knock 'em dead.
Give them a quid, with our love to old Sid
Or a homburg for his head.
Till we meet once again "All the Best"
Yippy ay, as we go from the west!

A Song to End the Act

Sid and Chorus—
This film will save our country from a slump (From a slump, from a slump)
We're in the clear (no you're not, no you're not)
We'll have free beer (You'll get shot, you'll get shot)
Old N.Z. will be no more a lousy dump (a lousy dump, a lousy dump)

A land of milk and honey
Lots of money
L. S. D.
L. S. D.
Wow!
No more austerity
We'll have prosperity
Sufficient L. S. D.
For all our needs.
We'll build ourselves a paradise
God's own country will be nice
Hipoorah for New Zealand.

Things my Daughter Taught me

Sally—
I'm a maiden sweet and pure,
And in spite of my allure,
When a guy decides to try I cry 'No, no!'
'Cause I remember all the things my daughter taught me,
And believe me honey . . . Fanny ought to know!

O I don't believe in sin;
I take water with my gin;
When they pass the whiskey flask I cry 'No, no!'
Cause I remember, etc . . .

When a Texas oil magnate,
Comes to ask me for a date,
If the bore begins to paw, I cry 'No, no!'
Cause I remember, etc . . .

When a Boston millionaire
Runs his fingers through my hair
If the cash begins to pash I cry 'No, no!'
Cause I remember, etc . . .

When a noble English peer
Starts to whisper in my ear,
If Debrett begins to pet I cry 'No, no!'
Cause I remember all, etc . . .

When a Yankee from up in Maine
Tries to ruin my good name,
To this Yankee hanky panky I cry No, no!
Cause I remember all, etc . . .

Party Solidarity

Wol—
Down by Parl - i - ment,
Where I first met you,
Waving Bloomers new
Or a reddish hue,
It was there I knew
That you loved me true,
Some sixteen stone,
All fat, no bone,
Down by the Parl - i - ment.

Comrade Bulganin and Comrade K

B. O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade Kruschev
Don't you think this bunch is very bourgeoisie?
Don't you find them very flat, very proletariat,
Don't you feel that they're not quite our cup of tea

K. Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulganin,
Please remember that they've asked us out to stay
Though we may not like their views
We can still knock back their booze
Aren't I right Comrade Bulganin?
B. Aren't you always Comrade K.?

Kruschev—
Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulganin,
Please remember that we must be polite.
Tho' we may not like these rats
We must smile and doff our hats
And pretend the East and West can now unite.

Bulganin—
O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade Kruschev,
With all you say you know I will agree.
You're much smarter than the best of the leaders in the West
Aren't I right dear Comrade Kruschev?

Kruschev—
Aren't you always Comrade B.!

Bulganin—
O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade Kruschev,
Aren't you ever worried in these trips out West
—The booing mixed with cheers is most baffling to my ears
And I'm always glad I brought my bomb-proof vest.

Kruschev—
Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulganin.
Don't be worried by the way this rabble bray
—They can never do us in
For we're charmed like Rasputin
Aren't I right Comrade Bulganin?

Bulganin—
Aren't you always Comrade K.?

Kruschev—
Comrade Bulganin, Comrade Bulgain,
If you're drinking vodka please don't be too swift.
For you're not a pretty sight when you're absolutely tight
And you're quite a weight for the poor guards to lift.

Bulganin—
O Comrade Kruschev, O Comrade Kruschev,
Surely we can have a little jollity
And women song and wine
Is the perfect party line
—Aren't I right dear Comrade Kruschev?

Kruschev—
... I'll let you know Comrade B.

Party Line

Gaylord and Crooks
O ye'll take the Marx line, and I'll take the Red Line,
And we'll be in cabinet together,
Then me and my comrades will justify our acts,
With the empty, empty words of Homburgers.

The importers groan, the retailers moan,
'Cos the banks squeeze tight for no reason,
So me and my comrades will socialise the Land,
And jail all the Tories for treason.

Chorus
The prices are rising, the costs are increasing,
The wages have dropt with a thump,
So me and my comrades will subsidise their fate
With a bonnie bonnie gift of a slump.

The mauve of National, the pink of Labour
Will change to a shade of bright red,
Yes, me and my comrades will Leninise the land
And govern the place from our beds.

Fanny Again!

Fanny—
I've come across the ocean
To play female lead for you
I've played for Leo time and time again.
I've heard a lot of stories and I reckon that they're true
About New Zealand's hordes of surplus men.

I reckon I can teach them quite a lot
About the assets that a girl has got . . .
I'm Fanny from the wild wild West
Men say I'm nice but I'm not.
For at a dance or far fetched fest
I show them all that I have got.
When a feller tries to cuddle me
Convention say I give his face a slap!
But when his moustache tickles me
I somehow sorta wanta tickle back!
Some guys have whispered lets get wed,
Let's buy a ring and a bed,
But when my appetite's fed
I shoot the poor critter dead
I can't say no!

Just an Old Suspectitute

Sid-
New Zealand's youth they often say is always on the spree
The finger of suspicion points at me
Juvenile delinquency, immoral she and he,
The finger of suspicion points at me
But as soon as they can make the guilty ones confess
I know exactly what I'm gonna be—
I'll become the kind old man and hold them on my knees
And subtly set their inhibition free.
And subtly set their inhibition free.

Sid and Chorus—
I'll sell myself for Business but only for a fee
The finger of supicion points at me.
They say I'll do my level best to stifle industry
The finger of suspicion points at me.
But as soon as they can make the profit ones confess
I'll tell you what I'm going to do
I'll open up a boom, conceal it with a slump
And private enterprise, I'll set it free-ee-ee
And private enterprise, I'll set it free.

It's all so too, too, too

Crooks—
5 Arty-crafty artists, arty-crafty artists, arty as can be
We waste our time on the wherefores and whys of it,
We like art and that's about the size of it,
People say that art demoralises use, lead us to a life of shame,
Learned critics try to criticise us, psycho-analyse us,
Darlings what a game! They don't know Coward taught us
So their quips distraught us
Hurt us through and through.
When they say "go low brow,"
We have got the know-how.
We are artists true.

The Cast

(in order of appearance from one end to the next.)

Learnin' to Booze

Kruschev—
You drink your first vodka,
You down your first whisky
Your mind starts to wander
And feel kind of frisky
When drink touches your lips
Whatever you choose
You've had your first lesson
In learnin' to booze.

Six dry martinis
With gin squash to follow
You start to enjoy it
You feel yourself wallow,
You're under the table
Making love with your shoes
You don't need a lesson
In learnin' to booze.

You see a pink object
You legs start to quiver
Your mind starts to boggle
Your bones start to shiver
You've got the dry horrors
Your stomach feels blue.
You've had your last lesson
In learnin' to booze.

Chorus—
You're feeling good just like you should
Because quite suddenly you find,
That when you're drunk as any skunk
You leave those deadly blues behind.

Little-Things-Mean-A-Lott-Ery

Sheriff Arnett
Give them relief from sales tax demands, give them Chryslers and large yachts.
Give them all the cash that they want
Little things mean a lot
Give them free beer and licence all pubs, close them at 10 on the dot
Give them your arm when they start to sway
Little things mean a lot.
You'll have to give pens'ners some more, wharfies miners and such,

They never cared much for drudgery and work
But constantly Sidney, they must have money
Give them compo for the kids they've got
Ten bob a week to rely on,
But if they lack the large offspring, give them
your mattress to try on.
Send them a cheque for a hundred pounds to show them you haven't forgot.
For voteship forever, pamper forever,
Little things mean a lot.

Sid's Big Night

Sheriff and Elia—
It was Walter Nash versus Sydney Hol, in the springtime of '54
There was lots of speculation at the poll, whether Syd would be out the door;
But the Labour Party did not have much hope, they were ready to say goodbye,
And while poor old Walter handed out soft soap, he could hear the people cry;

Chorus—
C'mon Syd,
C'mon Syd,
We've voted for you with all our might;
C'mon Syd,
C'mon Syd,
And thanks to all those voters it was Syd's big night.

Now Social Credit had a lot of nerve, with a stander in every spot;
They got a lot more votes than they did deserve, but elected they were not.
Walter made a final desperate bid, to have all the vote slips mixed
But a far more cunning move was made by Sid— he had all the boundaries fixed.

C'mon Syd,
C'mon Syd,
They voted for him with all their might;
C'mon Syd,
C'mon Syd,
And thanks to all those voters it was Syd's big night.

Hypodermichondriacs

Nurse and M.P.'s—
Oh! the Wellington Public Hospital
Is where you see us now;
In an atmosphere of morphine
And hypodermics; Ow!
But the nurses are so pretty
So happy, gay and free,
That the Wellington Public Hospital
Is where we like to be.

Oh! the Wellington Public Hospital
Is such a happy place;
We eat and sleep and loll about,
A smile on every face;
But when it's time for visiting,
We all hop into bed;
If you see us there at other times,
It simply means we're dead.

Oh! the patients all are virile,
The nurses all are cute,
And as for regulations,
No one really gives a hoot
There may be one or two of us,
Who seem a bit distressed,
But the Wellington Public Hospital
Is easily the best.

If I Only had a Brain

Wol—
I'd be able to do justice
To wharfies and railway workers
Who are driving me insane.
I'd draft some Regulations,
To hasten their cremations—
If I only had brain!
When with problems I am grapplin'
I'll not be like Charlie Chaplin—
Solutions would be plain;
I'd liquidate the Tories,
If I only had a brain!
If they could use me I would go to war,
On my cash mounted as a yore,
I'd smash the National line and then some more—
I'd startle populations,
With new-found imprecations,
I'd be myself again;
If my moustache were littler
I could be another Hitler—
If I only had a brain!

Male Ballet

• Tom Garland
• John Rogers
• Peter Chamberlain
• Richard Rawnsley
• B. Chapman
• Graham Hitch
• Tony Ross
• Richard Heine

Gravitas, Simplicitas, Adultery

The Councillors
Coming with a fatherly air,
With the Old Gray Mayor in the chair;
We are all in accord,
With our trust in the Lord,
Coming in with a fatherly air.

Coming in with a fatherly air,
For our fair city's burdens we bear;
And whenever we meet
How we bluster and bleat!
Coming in with a fatherly air.

Yippy ay
We're away
We'll distribute lots of bull's wool here today!

Coming in with a fatherly air;
Our meeting is a fatuous affair;
As we rollick and romp
With municipal pomp,
Coming in with a fatherly air.

Lady Scotch that Snake

Fanny—
I guess you wonder why I'm here
Togged up like Lady Gwinevere
But control your desire to curse
Or I'll sing you something worse
The tale I'll tell you you've heard before
'Bout a worthy Scottish thane to whom I'm squaw
I'm a nasty bit of work
And I got myself tangled up with a jerk
A guy named McBeth
Mixed up in a death
Who said that crime don't pay
Take it away!

That which made them drunk hath made me bold
It's a royal session and I won't be told
It's adversity, it's calamity, it's catastrophe!

The multitudinous seas incarnadine
But I hear a knocking somewhere down the line
At the west gate, at the east gate, at the south gate.

Most times like this I have a side kick who'll do all the work
But for this job the guy decided to shirk
If you've ever heard alarms of the Royal Duncan and the Thane of Glamis
It's a mystery, it's a history
It's a flagrant tale of a vagrant male
It's disruption, it's destruction
Of an escutcheon.

Unhappy Day

We are the littlemen;
We're not used to shocks;
We work in offices,
The schools and the docks; Unhappy day
When Sydney become our P.M.

We are the average man,
The man on the street;
No matter how we try,
We just can't make ends meet;
Unhappy day,
When Sydney became our P.M.

How we remember,
November, '54'
When Sydney promised us
Our pay would be more,
Unhappy etc . . .

But we soon realised,
His stories were tall,
'Cause now it seems to us that
We don't get paid at all;
Unhappy . . . etc . . .

We'd like to strike,
But we wouldn't have a show;
We haven't got the time
And we haven't got the dough,
Unhappy . . . etc . . .

Now Sydney's boss,
And its gone to his head;
So we've decided that
We might as well be dead;
Unhappy day,
When Sydney became our P.M.

Just A Titled Commoner

Sir Clifton Wubb—
I'm tired of lords and ladies
And I wish that they'd all go to Hades
They've got so much more than me.

I'm tired of meeting judges
And the reason for my simple grudge is
I'm just a common Q.C.

I hate my social standing
For though I'm always polite
No lord likes to be seen standing
With a common Knight.

I'm tired of morning teas
Can't balance cups upon my knobbly knees
I'm just a common Q.C.

I'm- tired giving addresses
In honour of brilliant soldiers or professors
They've got so much more than me.

I'm tired of Varsities
For none of them will give me honorary degrees
I'm just a common Q.C.

I hate the lawn at Ascot
With all its regal tone
For though I don't think I'm a gass-pot
I always walk alone.

I'm tired of all State luncheons
For I hear people saying "see that bumpkin?"
He's just a common Q.C.

Anthem

Chorus—
There'll always be New Zealand where hotels close at six,
Wherever parties go on all night
Where gin and beer are mixed
There'll always be New Zealand
While there's a TAB
Reveal the spirit of our men,
Who worship the gee-gee.
The Football field
Inspired our men of old
Players who gave our land a name, none dare defame.

Our Parliament
Millions of quid are spent
Betting on hacks
Cash that it lacks
Gathered by tax
There'll always be New Zealand
The Reds across the sea
While Sidney rules this land you'll see
All teeth and pills are free.
The Whisky flowing free.

The Tories Flag

Chorus—
The Tories flag is brightest blue,
It costs a quid so buy a few,
With workers kept beneath our thumb,
It represents unearned income.

Then raise the purple banner high,
Our profits soon will reach the sky,
Though slaves revolt and labour rants,
We're the boss and we wear the pants.

Teddy Boys' Picnic

Crooks—
We are the local Teddy Boys
In Wellington we're rife
And in our pockets you will find
A bike chain or a knife.
Floridee, etc.
A bike chain or a knife.

If you go round the town today, you're due for a big surprise
For there we are in a fine array, all milling around like flies
We're there for everyone to see, dressed like beaus of Regency,
And in and out we strut about like peacocks.

Chorus—
People call us Teddy Boys,
What's in a name, they'd smell the same if they were Teddy Boys
Though some think our clothes are odd
They must declare we wave our hair like any Grecian god,
And we just like simple joys
For we've been simple all our very simple lives
With razors, chains, coshes and knives
We're children playing with toys,
For we are childish Teddy Boys.

Turning Over Nicely

Sid—
The girl that I marry will have to be
A perfect mechanical entity
The girl I call my own
Will be radioactive and smell of ozone.
Her dome will be polished.
Her torso square
And highly resistant to wear and tear
With her motor ticking steady
When I want her she'll always be ready
I won't have to please her
Just oil her and grease her
Each day.

Sixteen in the Pound

Workers—
The law says a man must pay up his whack
If he's earned ten bob then some must be taxed,
You're health costs a lot so pay up and smile
If you want to wake up that old liver bile.

Chorus—
You take the Tee Ay Bee, what do they pay
If the favourite comes home then nothing but hay,
Sir Sidney don't call me because of these facts,
We owe our dough to the Income Tax.

Workers—
I was born one day in a hospital bed
The nurse came along from the Plunket, she said
Its time for your meal but before you dine
You get a stiff shot of our number nine.

Chorus—
You take the Tee Ay Bee etc.

Of Cleanliness and Godliness

Chorus—
Land of soap and water
Father's washing his feet,
Mother's painting her toenails
And singing the baby to sleep.

Grandma's pressing her nightdress
Young Sue's in the family way
The whole place is now a right mess
Oh what a glorious lay.

The whole place is now in aright mess
Oh what a glorious day.

This is us Going

Sid—
Politics no longer give me a thrill
In fact they make me ill.

Wol—
Me too.

Sid—
I'm sick and tired of papers misreporting me
Cartoons distorting me.

Wol—
Me too.

Sid—
I'd much prefer to lead a private life again
I'd be so happy then.

Wol—
Me too.

Sid—
Winston Churchill did it, why not me?

Wol—
I'd prefer to follow Clem Attlee
I have never felt well in Bellamy's
Acid drops and milk-shakes both makes me. wheeze
I prefer the Valley air
The wholesome smell of Strand Park
It's a perfect haven there
Especially just after dark.

Sid—
I have got all I want in Canterbury
Sitting around on my chuff's the stuff for me
I'm a vulture
For agriculture
A cocky's life's my desire.

Both—
Oh, how pleasant 'twould be if we retire.

You Heard Us—over

Chorus—
Extravaganza now is over;
Extravaganza now is done;
And whoever you may be,
We really hope you will agree,
That this years Extravaganza has been fun.

Extravaganza now is over;
Extravaganza '56
And we hope it won't be deemed
A sin, if now and then we seemed
To behaving like a pack of lunatics.

Extravaganza now is over;
We're sorry you found the show so dear;
If you think you're out of pocket,
Why not take the seat and hock it,
But be sure to get it back for us next year.

More Concerned

Hand. Props :
ROSS RUSSELL

Call Boys:
Beverley Major
Jane Oliver

Acknowledgements:
Witcombe and Caldwell, The Sports Depot.
Pallo Engineering.
Mr. J. McKenna for his help in staging.
Mr. W. Conroy for scene painting.
Production Services for advertising.

Make-up Controller:
John Treadwell

Chief Make-up Assistant:
Burnett Ross
assisted by a Adrian Sirett and a large galaxy of
Flesh Painters