A comic song from the year 1894.
Words by Albert Hall.
Music by C. W. Murphy.
The sheet music:
Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:
Lyrics
- Tim Burke was like a beardless boy
Although a man he’d grown
He bought some hair restorer for a bob
He rubbed it all around his chin
To make the whiskers grow
Then went to bed to sleep upon the job
But when he woke next morning, what a sight
His whiskers had been growing all the night
They’d grown so much, that really, on my life
The hair had suffocated all his children and his wife
Chorus
And still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
He cut them off, and he shaved them off
He bit them off, and he chew’d them off
But still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
They covered his face, and covered the place
But still his whiskers grew
- The whiskers filled the place
Until he couldn’t stir a peg
A mile a minute was the length they grew
He’d whiskers in his fingernails
And whiskers on his leg
And on his false teeth there were whiskers too
They grew down from his head unto his hoof
They grew until they lifted off the roof
They grew so much, till he, despairing quite
Went out and blew his chin off
With a ton of dynamite
Chorus
But still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
He pulled them off, and he dragged them off
He kicked them off, and he blew them off
But still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
They covered the ground for miles around
And still his whiskers grew
- The whiskers grew until
They covered up the country side
They even spoilt the farmers’ crops of hay
‘Twas nothing else but whiskers
And you couldn’t walk or ride
Whilst folks were getting strangled ev’ry day
They grew until they reached up in the sky
There was no room for “dicky birds” to fly
To stop them Burke went up in a balloon
And tied them in a double knot
Around the sun and moon
Chorus
But still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
He tied them up, and he hung them up
He nailed them up, and he screwed them up
But still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
They snuffed out the light of the moon that night
And still his whiskers grew
- So many folks were getting killed
On ev’ry hand and side
That people said poor Burke would have to die
They struggled through his whiskers
And his hands behind him tied
Then to a lamp-post hung him up to dry
When he was dead, each face was full of smiles
They dug a grave the depth of fourteen miles
They chucked Burke in and filled the hole once more
With lead, and stones, and canon balls
And iron in galore
Chorus
But still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
They pushed him down, and they dragged him down
They chucked him down and they shoved him down
But still his whiskers grew, still his whiskers grew
In less than a “pop” were up to the top
And still his whiskers grew
Sung here by Vancha March: