IF IT WASN'T FOR THE 'OUSES IN BETWEEN
(The Cockney Garden)

If you saw my little backyard, "Wot a pretty spot!" you'd cry
It's a picture on a sunny summer's day;
Wiv the turnip-tops and cabbages what people's doesn't buy
I makes it on a Sunday look all gay.
The neighbours finks I grow 'em and you'd fancy you're in Kent,
Or at Epsom if you gaze into the mews.
It's a wonder as the landlord doesn't want to raise the rent,
Because we've got such nobby distant views.

Oh! it really is a wery pretty garden,
And Chingford to the eastward could be seen;
Wiv a ladder and some glasses,
You could see to 'Ackney Marshes,
If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.

We're as countrified as can be wiv a clothes-prop for a tree,
The tub-stool makes a rustic little stile;
Every time the bloomin' clock strikes there's a cuckoo sings to me,
And I've painted up "To Leather Lane a mile."
Wiv tomatoes and wiv radishes wot 'adn't any sale,
The backyard looks a purfick mass o' bloom;
And I've made a little beehive wiv some beetles in a pail,
And a pitchfork wiv the handle of a broom.

Oh! it really is a very pretty garden,
And Rye 'Ouse from the cockloft could be seen;
Where the chickweed man undresses,
To bathe 'mong the watercresses,
If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.

There's the bunny shares the egg box wiv the cross-eyed cock and hen,
Though they 'ave got the pip and him the morf;
In a dog's 'ouse on the line-post there was pigeons nine or ten,
'Til someone took a brick and knocked it off.
The dustcart though it seldom comes is just like 'arvest 'ome
And we mean to rig a dairy up some'ow
Put the donkey in the wash-house wiv some imitation 'orns,
'Cause we're teachin' 'im to moo just like a kah (cow).

Oh! it really is a wery pretty garden,
And 'Endon to the westward could be seen;
And by climbin' up the chimbley,
You could see across to Wembley,
If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.

Though the gasworks isn't wilets, they improve the local scene
For mountains they would very nicely pass;
There's the mushrooms in the dust-hole, with the cowcumbers so green
It only wants a bit o' 'ot 'ouse glass.
I wears this milkman's nightshirt, and I sits outside all day,
Like the ploughboy cove what's mizzled o'er the lea;
And when I goes indoors at night they dunno what I say,
'Cause my language gets as yokel as can be.

Oh! it really is a very pretty garden,
And soapworks from the 'ouse-tops could be seen;
If I got a rope and pulley,
I'd enjoy the breeze more fully
If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.

Music Hall
Words by Edgar Bateman / Music by George Le Brunn

AndyG

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