THE OLD DUN COW CAUGHT FIRE
Words and music by Harry Wincott, c 1893, as performed by Harry Champion 1911(born William Henry Crump, 1865) old tyme music hall classic. “To be sung with the rapidity of a machine gun burst.” Entered the folk repertoire through the singing Copper Family of Rottingdean, Sussex, England.
From Chris Simmons
Some pals and I in a public house were playing dominoes last night,
When all of a sudden in the potman runs with a face just like a kite.
“What’s up?” said Jones, “Why you silly old fool! Have you seen old Aunt Maria?”
“Aunt be blowed,” then the potman cried. “The blooming pub’s on fire!”
“On fire!” said Brown. “What a bit of luck! Come along with me,” shouts he.
“Down in the cellar, if the fire ain’t there, we’ll have a fair old spree.”
So we all goes down ‘long with good old Brown. Booze we couldn’t miss.
We hadn’t been ten minutes there, when I was just like this.
And there was Brown upside down licking up the whisky off the floor.
“Booze, booze, booze!” then the firemen cried as they got knocking down the door.
“Don’t let ‘em in ‘till it’s all mopped up!” someone said to Macintyre,
So we all got blue blind paralytic drunk when the Old Dun Cow caught fire.
Old Johnson flew to a port-wine tub and he gave it just a few hard knocks.
He then starts taking off his pantaloons, ditto his boots and socks.
“Hold hard,” said Snooks. “If you want to wash your feet, there’s a barrel full of four ale here.
Don’t put your trotters in the port wine, Jack, when there’s some old stale beer.”
Just then there was such a dreadful crash, half the blooming roof gave way.
We got drowned with a fireman’s hose, but still we were all gay.
For we found some sacks and some old tin tacks and shoved ourselves inside.
We all got drinking good old scotch till we got bleary-eyed.
We got so drunk that we did not know the blooming cellar had caught fire.
Poor old Jones had the D.T.’s bad and wanted to retire.
“There’s Old Nick,” said another poor chap, “and he’s poking the blooming fire.
“That’s no bogy. It’s a fireman, Tom, at least,” said Macintyre.
“Let’s get out of here,” said a blind-eyed boy. “It’s getting rather hot down here.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said a boozy bloke. “We haven’t drank all the beer!”
So we filled our hats and we drank like cats ‘midst the flames and smoke.
I had to take my trousers off. I thought that should “croak.”
At last the firemen got inside and found us all dead drunk,
But like all true heroes, there they stood. They did not do a bunk.
They saw the booze upon the floor and gave a sudden yell.
They took their helmets off and then upon their knees they fell.
“At last! At last!” the firemen cried. “At last we know the news!”
“Come on! Come on!” us lads all cried. “Come on and have a booze!”
Changed from all caps. --JoeClone, 20-Mar-02.