You Don’t Know How Much You Have To Know In Order To Know How Little You Know

A 1909 popular song.
Words and music by James Brockman, Bert Fitzgibbon, and Louis Weslyn


The sheet music:


Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:


Lyrics

  1. When I was a boy, I thought I knew it all
    And often from my daddy got an awful call
    I use to think that I was really wond’rous wise
    Wond’rous wise yes, so wond’rous wise
    In school I tho’t my lessons were an awful bore
    And I was positive I knew it all and more
    But one day, when I had made the teacher sore
    He kept me after school to my surprise
    I’ll remember what he told me, till the day I die
    When I asked him what he wanted he made this reply:

Chorus
“You don’t know how much you have to know
In order to know how little you know
Never say or think, you know it all
Look and listen, keep mum, lay low
The fool as a rule always says, ‘I told you so’
The wise just surmise, and you’ll never hear them blow
You don’t know how much you have to know
In order to know how little you know”

  1. ‘Bout a year ago I thought I’d take a wife
    I never got so much advice in all my life
    My friends all came and told me that I best go slow
    Mighty slow, yes, just awful slow
    I said: “I wish you’d go away and leave me be
    There’s nothing that you people can explain to me”
    But after I had married, I commenced to see
    A hundred thousand things I did not know
    And when my wife had triplets ’twas the final touch
    And I said to the doctor: “This is two too much”
  2. Once I took my lady to a swell cafe
    I couldn’t read the bill of fare, it’s sad to say
    But I just threw a bluff that it was plain to me
    Plain to me from A to Z
    So I said to the waiter, “Bring some poudenoo
    Some croquettes Alcazasza and Larinza stew”
    My lady friend said, “I wish I could speak French too”
    I said, “It’s just as easy as can be”
    I felt so much ashamed, I nearly lost my head
    When the waiter brought us liver and some toasted bread

Sung here by Vancha March: