Oh woe is me and alas alack, a tear rolls down my cheek,
As I tell the story of Nellie Clack, the belle of Barking Creek.
Her hair was yellow as the morning sun, except where the black shows threw,
And her age has been a steady twenty one, since 1922.

One lovely evening when the moon was new she stood by the garden gate,
While idly wondering what to do poor Nellie met her fate.
For a great big stoker by the name of Bert had come into town that day,
And he said “cor blimey what a piece of skirt” and he carried her away.

And she darned his socks and she fried his bacon and she scarecly paused for breath,
And very soon she was overtaken by a fate that is worse than death.
For he said “I’m going but I’ll soon be back and I’ll write to you every week”
But I know darn well that Nellie Clack is up the Barking Creek.

There’s no more to tell of poor little Nell, the Bell of Barking Creek.