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The Organ Grinder

Sung By Arthur Lloyd, Written and Composed expressly for him by G. W. HUNT.

You see before you a young man
Who mourns both night and day,
For the loss of a pretty girl named Fan,
Who has stolen my heart away.
She said she loved me faithfully,
And vowed we ne’re should part,But she’s gone away with an organ man,
And broken this poor heart—heart—heart.
So I mourns for the loss of the girl I love,
And I don’t know where to find her;
She’s gone away from her turtle dove,
With a nasty organ grinder.
(Spoken). And so young too.

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At a twelve-roomed house in Canonbury Square,
She liv’d as kitchen-maid;
Six pounds a year, and all she could find,
Was the salary she got paid.
Oh, how often down those area steps
I’ve crept like an old Tom cat,
And after having a good blow out,
I’ve fill’d my poor old hat—hat—hat.
But I mourns for the loss of the girl I love, &c.
(Spoken). You should have seen her.

Out of all the servants in the square,
She used to take the shine;
She’d a delicate turn in her ancle,
And a great big crinoline.
When she used to clean the front door steps,
How the chaps they used to stare,
And throw sheep’s eyes and heave big sighs,
Which made me tear my hair—hair—hair.
But I mourns for the loss of the girl I love, &c.
(Spoken). Oh, what depravity!

 

Now I soon began to notice—that
Whenever I pass’d that way,
There was always an organ grinder there,
A grinding “Old Dog Tray.”
He’d grind and ground, until he found
He couldn’t grind any more;
And when they told him to move on,
He’d go and grind next door—to be sure.
But I mourns for the loss of the girl I love, &c.(Spoken). And, oh! So young!


Now one day “Fan” asked this organ man
To play her “Uncle Sam;”
She gave him coppers in return,
And a plate of “cold roast lamb.”
Then he told her he was of noble blood,
And would be a marquis one fine day;
In fact, he told her such thund’ring lies,
That with him she eloped away—that day.
So I mourns for the loss of the girl I love, &c.
(Spoken). She ought to have known better.

Well, the last I heard of the happy pair,
‘Twas down in Pimlico;
The fellow was a grinding on his instrument of torture,
And Fan play’d the “Old Banjo,”
But to mourn any more for a girl like that
I should only be a dunce;
So I’ll think no more of Fan and her organ man,
But I hope they’ll get six months, (Spoken.) With hard labour, for disturbing Mr.Babbage in his skyentific pursuits and mental miscalculations.
So no more I’ll mourn for the girl I love’d,
And no more I’ll try to find her;
She may go and be blowed for what I care,
Yes, and so may her organ grinder.

Encore Verse.
I see a Bill’s been introduced
By an M.P., Mr. Bass,
To do away with organ men,
And all of that ‘ere class.
But your applause is the music I like,
And such friends—who could resist ‘em;
But though I long to sing another song.
It won’t suit my organ-ic system.
“The spirit’s willing, but the flesh is weak”—
You’ll please to excuse the reminder;
But if you’ll come another night,
I’ll sing the organ grinder.