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Oh, how well I remember the old Bull and Bush,
Where we used to go down of a Saturday night,
Where, when anythink happened, it come with a rush,
For the boss, Mr Clark, he was very polite,
A very nice House, from basement to garret
A very nice House. Ah, but it was the parret,
The parret, the parret named Billy M'Caw,
That brought all those folk to the bar.
Ah! He was the Life of the bar.
Of a Saturday night, we was all feeling bright,
And Lily La Rose, the barmaid that was,
She say 'Billy! Billy M'Caw!
Come give us, come give us a dance on the bar'.
And Billy would dance on the bar,
And Billy would dance on the bar.
And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear,
And emotion would make us all order more beer.
Lily, she was a girl what had brains in her head;
She wouldn't have nothink, no not that much said.
If it came to an argument, or a dispute,
She'd settle it off-hand with the toe of her boot
Or as likely as not put her fist through your eye.
But when we was happy, and just a bit dry,
Or when we was thirsty, and just a bit sad,
She would rap on the bar with that corkscrew she had
And say 'Billy! Billy M'Caw!
Come give us a tune on your pastoral flute!'
And Billy'd strike up on his pastoral flute,
And Billy'd strike up on his pastoral flute.
And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear,
And emotion would make us all order more beer.
'Billy! Billy M'Caw!
Come give us a tune on your moley guitar!'
And Billy'd strike up on his moley guitar,
And Billy'd strike up on his moley guitar.
And then we'd feel balmy, in each eye a tear,
And emotion would make us all order more beer.
'Billy! Billy M'Caw!
Come give us a tune on your moley guitar!'
Ah! He was the Life of the bar.
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