This old music hall song appears to have some relation to this song, at least the chorus is a parody (from the draft HOUSING SONG BOOK):

This is the House that Jerry Built

This late 19th century song dramatizes "the trials and tribulations" experienced by the aspiring middle class as they sought escape from the working class neighborhoods of London to the new suburbs. Like many themes in the housing song literature, we will find this one repeating itself in every age and to paraphrase Malvina Reynolds 'they all sound just the same." This song was composed by T. S. Lonsdale in 1885 and performed in the British music hall by artists such as James Fawn.
Words by T. S. Lonsdale, © 1885
Music by W. G. Eaton

THIS IS THE HOUSE THAT JERRY BUILT

My wife is a woman and like all the rest,
Bound to be scheming something for the best,
She had a desire a few months ago,
To live in the suburbs of London you know;
She went out in search and very soon found,
An Agent who showed her the houses all around,
They settled on one, after a good hunt,
In the gothic style – and a garden in front.

SPOKEN: And also in pond in front, I should have said, for the road was nothing better, when the men brought the furniture, they were up to here in mud and it took them a day and a half to dig the Van out of the road, and the mould in the garden is mould, I put in some seeds a few months ago, all that came up were half bricks and clay –

CHORUS: And there's the cat that ate the rat,
And the servant girl's not fat,
And there's the children with the cramp,
Because the place is always damp;
And there's the workman always nigh,
And the Plumber's always dry,
And through the roof, you see the sky,
In the house that Jerry built.

Red bricks and church windows look very nice,
And the place some might think is a paradise,
Other sweet things in the gothic style but,
The doors like the windows will never quite shut,
If the wind's the wrong way it's really no joke,
We're smothered to death by volumes of smoke,
But there we all sit and shiver with cold,
Or up in some shawls or blankets we've rolled.

SPOKEN: Don't have a fire in the place because the chimney smokes, oh it's a nice place to live in, the nearest pub's a mile off, when the girl goes for the supper beer we bid her good-bye, just the same as if she was off to America, and perhaps I'm dying of thirst, or the Missus or children got the wind or spasm bad, and want a drop of short to keep us warm you know. (CHORUS)

It's nice don't you know, at night when in bed,
For the rain to come through and drop on your head,
And the wife of your bosom to sit up and jaw,
While you rush about, and wipe up the floor;
Another nice thing that worries your brains,
Is the whistle that's from a few passing trains,
An old cock that crows will give you delight,
And also a dog that howls all the night.

SPOKEN: They say that when you hear a dog howl it's a sign of death, the next morning to the dog, oh it is a nice place to live in, we can never get a girl to stay longer than a month, because the place is so dull, and no soldiers about, Policemen you see once a week, and Burglars every night, it's a good place for Doctors and Dentists, someone's always got the toothache, whooping cough or measles – (CHORUS)

Through the walls you can hear what your neighbors say,
And when they commence the piano to play,
The five finger exercise and other sweet things,
A Cornet sometimes a friend of theirs brings;
You feel just as if you could tear out your hair,
Or at your dear wife you could say a sweet prayer,
For she, yes, the woman's the cause of it all,
When the water taps froze and the children squall.

SPOKEN: The wife says, oh yes it's all my fault, you blame me for everything, I'm the cause of it all, you strike me, now do, or say I'm mad, and have me put away, because I took this beastly house and think a Donkey's got a soul, one husband's done it to his wife, but he's been well done since – (CHORUS)

Warm regards,
Landlady's Daughter