My Grandfather's Days
Give attention to my ditty and I'll not keep you long;
I'll endeavour for to please you if you'll listen to my song.
I'll tell you an ancient story, the doings and the ways,
The manners and the customs of my grandfather's days.
Of many years that's gone and past, which hundreds do say hard,
When Adam was a little boy and worked in Chatham Yard,
We had no Waterloo soldiers dressed out in scarlet clothes;
The people were not frightened by one man's big, long nose.
We had not got Lord Brougham to pass the Poor Law Bill;
We had not got policemen to keep the people still;
We had not got a treadmill to dance upon and grin;
Old women in the morning didn't drink a pint of gin.
If a young man went a-courting a damsel meek and mild,
And if she from misfortune should hap to have a child,
By going to a magistrate, a recompense to seek,
They'd make the man to marry her, or pay a crown a week.
But now by the new Poor Law he nothing has to pay,
Nor would he, even if he got twenty children every day.
We had not got a German queen to govern by her laws;
O'Connell had not come to town to fight for Ireland's cause.
A tradesman was not known to sigh, had no reason to complain;
Colonel Evans wasn't here to drag young Englishmen to Spain.
There then was none of Fieschi's gang to wheel about and prance;
They hadn't got the musket made to shoot the King of France.
In my grandfather's day, now very well you know,
They never learned to wheel about, nor learned to jump Jim Crow.
They walked, or rode on horseback, or travelled with a team;
They never thought of railroads or travelling by steam.
They travelled on the roads by day or in the morning, soon;
Green did not go to Holland in a dashing great balloon.
With silks and satins, women didn't decorate their backs;
The sleeves upon their gowns weren't like great 'tato sacks.
In my grandfather's days, the coats were made of cloth,
But now they're india rubber and styled a Mackintosh.
As through the streets they go along, the boys cry out quite pert,
" Oh crikey, there's a swellish cove, but what a dirty shirt."
In my grandfather's days, if a journey you would take,
Then coaches ran so easy, no fear your bones they'd break;
Now we've omnibuses, patent cars and bedsteads upon springs,
Where children you may get by steam, such pretty little things.
I'll endeavour for to please you if you'll listen to my song.
I'll tell you an ancient story, the doings and the ways,
The manners and the customs of my grandfather's days.
Of many years that's gone and past, which hundreds do say hard,
When Adam was a little boy and worked in Chatham Yard,
We had no Waterloo soldiers dressed out in scarlet clothes;
The people were not frightened by one man's big, long nose.
We had not got Lord Brougham to pass the Poor Law Bill;
We had not got policemen to keep the people still;
We had not got a treadmill to dance upon and grin;
Old women in the morning didn't drink a pint of gin.
If a young man went a-courting a damsel meek and mild,
And if she from misfortune should hap to have a child,
By going to a magistrate, a recompense to seek,
They'd make the man to marry her, or pay a crown a week.
But now by the new Poor Law he nothing has to pay,
Nor would he, even if he got twenty children every day.
We had not got a German queen to govern by her laws;
O'Connell had not come to town to fight for Ireland's cause.
A tradesman was not known to sigh, had no reason to complain;
Colonel Evans wasn't here to drag young Englishmen to Spain.
There then was none of Fieschi's gang to wheel about and prance;
They hadn't got the musket made to shoot the King of France.
In my grandfather's day, now very well you know,
They never learned to wheel about, nor learned to jump Jim Crow.
They walked, or rode on horseback, or travelled with a team;
They never thought of railroads or travelling by steam.
They travelled on the roads by day or in the morning, soon;
Green did not go to Holland in a dashing great balloon.
With silks and satins, women didn't decorate their backs;
The sleeves upon their gowns weren't like great 'tato sacks.
In my grandfather's days, the coats were made of cloth,
But now they're india rubber and styled a Mackintosh.
As through the streets they go along, the boys cry out quite pert,
" Oh crikey, there's a swellish cove, but what a dirty shirt."
In my grandfather's days, if a journey you would take,
Then coaches ran so easy, no fear your bones they'd break;
Now we've omnibuses, patent cars and bedsteads upon springs,
Where children you may get by steam, such pretty little things.
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