London Spurning
(Some on the folk scene are dismissive of songs which appear to have their origins on the music hall. Then again, some on the folk scene seem to be dismissive of folk song, so there's room for all. This song of social comment must therefore speak for itself.)
She
was poor, but she was honest; well that's one of nature's laws;
If
you're poor you must be honest, if you're honest you'll be poor.
So
she stayed both pure and modest, quite untouched, like morning dew;
Goodness
knows I tried to touch her, but she'd studied ju-jitsu.
Then
she left our little village, leaving me in want and grief;
While
she searched for fame and fortune, long cold baths my sole relief.
By
the time she got to London she had lost her honest name;
To
be frank she never missed it, but she prospered all the same.
For
she very soon discovered, virtue's easy, but it's flawed;
And
it's no good being upright, if you're hoping for reward.
Now
her beauty brought her fortune, and her art, it brought her fame,
As,
for due consideration, she lost her name time and again.
Soon
this simple country maiden with the swells was seen abroad;
Taking
tea with all the Ladies, sharing breakfast with the Lords.
Then
she met Sir Percy Hardwick; just Home Secretary is what;
In
the House he was Right Honourable; in the garden he was not.
First
he loved her, then he loved her, then he loved her once for luck;
Then
he left her empty handed; wasn't he a rotten pup?
For
it's the rich what gets the pleasure, and the wealth, and the acclaim.
It's
the poor what must provide it; and it's always been the same.
Standing
on the bridge at midnight, she cries "Farewell, blighted love";
There's
a splash, a scream - Good Heavens!
I believe she's pushed him off!
When
his body it is landed, there's a note pinned to his frock;
She
had writ, in neatest writing, 'How's that for a short, sharp shock?'
London
spurning she departed, and returned to me again;
Now
she lives a life of chastity, ain't it all a bloomin' shame?
For
it's the same the whole world over, there's no change where'er you roam;
It's
identical everywhere you go, so you might as well stay at home!
Copyright Chris Sugden, 1997.