There must be somebody who would like to sing this song. From YouTube.


ONLY A FEW OF US LEFT
As recorded by Mr Flotsam & Mr Jetsam, 1928.

We met a man who was perhaps
Something of a keen leg-puller
And he said: “Do you know, I thought you chaps
Were certainly men of colour.”
The poor little fellow looked all forlorn
When he found that we were British born.
Said he: “How do you stand a chance
Without an American song or dance?
You don’t sing songs about girls being dumb,
And you don’t play a sax and you don’t chew gum.
In fact it’s more than I can guess
How you’ve managed to meet with any success.”

Well, we don’t know and we don’t care.
We like ev’rybody and we go ev’rywhere,
And the funny part is that the songs we croon
Are grammatical words to a British tune.
My word!
Absurd!
Of our senses we’re bereft.
How dare we?
What care we?
For there’s only a few of us left.

A professional chap with a face as long
As an ordinary window shutter
Said: “Listen, and don’t tell me I’m wrong:
Variety’s as dead as butter.”
Said he: “These times aren’t like the past.
They want foreign stuff and they want it fast.
You must play jazz and you must sing blues
Or you won’t get a job in the new revues.”
Said he: “The public taste is wrong.
Nobody wants to hear a decent song,
And the only chance that a song has got
Is in being just a little bit you-know-what.”

Well, we don’t know and we don’t care.
We sing to the children over the air.
The boys and the girls need have no fear
That there’s anything left parents should not hear.
Oh, thanks
To the yanks
For their dances droll and deft,
But mark you,
And hark you:
There are still just a few of us left.

Who wants a mammy down in Alabammy?
I don’t.
I don’t.
Who wants to be back in Tennessee?
I don’t.
I don’t.
Are tunes no good if you can’t fox-trot ‘em?
Would the words matter much if we went and forgot ‘em?
Do you want to see Jetsam do the black bottom?
I don’t.
Yes, yes. (It’d be terrible.)

We don’t know and we don’t care.
We like ev’rybody and we go ev’rywhere,
And the funny part is that the songs we croon
Are grammatical words to a British tune.
My word!
Absurd!
Of our senses we’re bereft.
How dare we?
What care we?
For there’s only a few of us—
Practically the two of us—
Left.