IT SERVES YOU RIGHT
Written by Elton Box & Desmond Cox
Performed by George Formby in the film "Bell-Bottom George" (1944)

Ever since the days of old, the Navy's ruled the waves.
For years they've told the world that Britons never shall be slaves.
The Navy still remembers and you'll often hear them say
What Nelson told Napoleon upon Trafalgar Day:

It serves you right; you shouldn't have joined; it jolly well serves you right.
It serves you right; you shouldn't have joined; you might have been sitting tight.
You might have been in Civvy Street instead of in the fight.
But it serves you right; you shouldn't have joined; it jolly well serves you right.

And it's no use kicking up a row because you're nobody's sweetheart now.
You can weep and sigh and pipe your eye but still you're in the fight.
It serves you right; you shouldn't have joined; it jolly well serves you right.

I wouldn't mind the Navy if the blinking ship were still.
It's all this bobbing up and down that makes me feel so ill.
The sea's all right for sharks and whales and things the like of that,
But I'd rather stick my marlin spike in Ilkley Moor baht 'at.

But it serves me right; I shouldn't have joined; it jolly well serves me right,
It serves me right; I shouldn't have joined; I might have been sitting tight.
When I was cleaning windows, I would keep 'em nice and bright,
But now I'm polishing portholes, rubbing them up with all me might.

And it's no use kicking up a row because I'm nobody's sweetheart now.
One day up in the crow's nest I was feeling bright and gay,
Till the captain shouted, "Don't come down; we've taken the ship away".

I used to be a chimney sweep in dear old Wigan town.
I used to do the lady's down the street for half a crown,
But now I don't get nothing for the little jobs I do.
I wish I was in Wigan sweeping Mrs. Jones's flue.

But it serves me right; I shouldn't have joined; it jolly well serves me right
It serves me right; I shouldn't have joined; I might have been sitting tight.
I thought in every port I'd get a cuddle every night,
But all I've done is cuddle a gun and work up an appetite.

And it's no use kicking up a row because I'm nobody's sweetheart now.
There's a draught around my fore and aft; my jumper's much too tight.
I've got barnacles on my binnacle and it ruddy well serves me right.