From the musical “Fifty Miles From Boston”, 1907.
Words and music by George M. Cohan.
The sheet music:
Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:
Lyrics
- This town is getting awful
Or so it seems to me
The people here are just as
Narrow minded as can be
They talk about their neighbors
Mistrust their dearest friends
Let something drop and there’s no
Telling where the scandal ends
There’s little you can say or do, that they will miss
Ain’t it awful, ain’t it awful
There’s no such thing as friendship in a town like this
For instance, there’s this “Kennedy” affair
Chorus
Ain’t it awful, ain’t it awful
There’s poor Missis Kennedy
As nice a woman as can be
He treats her simply cruelly
Indeed, she has my sympathy
In jail is where he ought to be
Just nothing but a brute is he
He’s flirting ’round continually
In fact, he tried to flirt with me
It’s none of my bus’ness, but it’s awful
- My mother darling taught me
When I was very young,
That blessings are bestow’d upon
The girl who holds her tongue
Expose what I hold secret?
Oh, bless your heart, not I
Some awful things I could divulge
If I should care to try
I could tell some women of their husbands’ lives
Ain’t it awful, ain’t it awful
I could tell the husbands of deceitful wives
For instance, there’s that dentist, Doctor Peck
Chorus
Ain’t it awful, ain’t it awful
There’s that Missis Henry Thayer
The upstart with the haughty air
She makes me sick, I do declare
Of course, you know, she bleach’d her hair
She runs around the public square
To show her shape is why she’s there
That dentist better have a care
She’s always in the dentist’s chair
It’s none of my business, but it’s awful
- A good, kindhearted person
Is always in a mess
The less you do, the more they
Thank you for it all, I guess
I’ve always been so careful
Since I was but a child
Why, I could whisper things
Would set the town just simply wild
Why, I could throw some reputations in the air
Ain’t it awful, ain’t it awful
But there are certain people
That we’ve got to spare
But listen, did you hear of Missis White?
Chorus
Ain’t it awful, ain’t it awful
There’s that Missis Charlie White
I think that she’s a perfect fright
Why all she does is scrap and fight
I’ll tell you something just for spite
She doesn’t treat her husband right
Although she can’t explain it quite
The foreman of the fact’ry might
He makes her husband work at night
It’s none of my bus’ness, but it’s awful
Sung here by Vancha March: