(F C G7 C) (a to high f, g to high e, a ab a c b a, g f# g a g f, d e f g a b c)
         C
  Oh! My name is John Wellington Wells, I'm a dealer in magic and spells,
       G7                      C                       G7                      C
  In blessings and curses and ever-filled purses, in prophecies, witches, and knells.
  If you want a proud foe to make tracks--if you'd melt a rich uncle in wax--
  You've but to look in, on the resident Djinn, number seventy, Simmery Axe!
  
            Am                                      E7                    Am
  We've a first-class assortment of magic; and for raising a posthumous shade,
         Am                                      Eb°                       E
  With effects that are comic or tragic, there's no cheaper house in the trade.
         B7                          E           B7                   E
  Love-philtre--we've quantities of it! And for knowledge if any one burns,
      A7        D7            G7         C7           F            D       G
  We keep an extremely small prophet, a prophet who brings us unbounded returns
  
   7           C        G7          C
  For he can prophesy, with a wink of his eye,
   A7          Dm       A7    Dm
  Peep with security, into futurity,
   C7           F       A7        Dm
  Sum up your history, clear up a mystery,
   F#°        G       F#°        G    F#°        G  (C° G)
  Humour proclivity, for a nativity--for a nativity;
          G7       C       G7           C
  He has answers oracular, bogies spectacular,
   A7         Dm       A7         Dm
  Tetrapods tragical, mirrors so magical,
   B7        Em       B7        Em
  Facts astronomical, solemn or comical,
   C°|A°                                                           G7 
  And, if you want it, he, makes a reduction on taking a quantity! Oh!
  (d c b a g f e d c b a g)
      C                                                 
  If any one anything lacks, he'll find it all ready in stacks,
            G7       C             G7       C           F        G7      C  (Intro theme)
  If he'll only look in (If he'll only look in) number seventy, Simmery Axe!
  
          F
  He can raise you hosts of ghosts,
        +              F
  And that without reflectors;
        C7/E              F
  And creepy things with wings,        
  And gaunt and grisly spectres.
          D7/F#                G
  He can fill you crowds of shrouds,
       E7/G#       Am
  And horrify you vastly;
          F7/A                  Bb  
  He can rack your brains with chains, 
       G#°                  G
  and gibberings grim and ghastly!
  
  Then, if you plan it, he changes organity,
  With an urbanity full of Satanity,
  Vexes humanity with an inanity
  Fatal to vanity--Driving your foes to the verge of insanity!
  Barring tautology, in demonology,
  'Lectro-biology, mystic nosology,
  Spirit philology, high-class astrology,
  Such is his knowledge, he isn't the man to require an apology! Oh!
  
  Oh! my name is John Wellington Wells &c
          ?                      C                      Dm       G7      C
  You've but to look in, on the resident Djinn, number seventy, Simmery Axe! 

From the sorcerer