My Beastly Eyeglass

A 1908 popular song.
Words by Roland Henry.
Music by Harold Montague.
Song suggested by Ross Boyle.


The sheet music:


Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:


Lyrics

I’m a funny sort of Johnny, I philosophize a lot
And when I think, I think a lot of thoughts
And when my brain gets addled, as the best brains always do
I go and have a “pick-me-up” at “Short’s”
But nothing really ruffles me, I don’t see why it should
Whatever comes along I never cry
The only thing that worries me at all is simply this
I cannot keep my eye-glass in my eye

I once was nearly married to a girl from U.S.A.
Whose Dad had made his millions out of pork
She really got quite fond of me, and one fine summer’s day
Suggested that we took a beastly walk
She asked me “Could I love her,” I said I didn’t know
That later on perhaps I’d have a try
That really at the moment I’d as much as I could do
To keep my beastly eye-glass in my eye

I hear that folks are starving, what a rotten thing to do
With heaps of first-class Restaurants about
I know alot of places where for half-a-quid or so
You can get a really ripping good blow-out
They say folks have no money and they all are stoney broke
That “Help the Un-employed” now is the cry
I only wish the bounders had the work that I have got
To keep my beastly eye-glass in my eye

I once got very angry with a policeman, don’t you know
He actually wanted me to fight
A burly-looking ruffian had got him on the ground
And was knocking him about with all his might
The policeman cried, “Hi, hi! you there
Help, help, he’s killing me
“Help you?” I said, “I really can’t see why
I don’t know how you think that I can possibly fight
And keep my beastly eye-glass in my eye”

I’m feeling awfully seedy, I’m so tired, don’t you know
I really think my nerves are giving way
When I get up in the morning, it’s an awful fag to dress
It really knocks me up for half the day
My doctor tells me, if I do not buck up very soon
I’ll probably get worse, and p’r’aps I’ll die
That doesn’t worry me at all, my lawyer has arranged
That I’m buried with my eye-glass in my eye
(Spoken) Perhaps the beastly thing will stop there


Sung here by Vancha March: