Suicide Arms (from 'Bert' Cleaver, who learned it at Stratford Festival, 1952)

(Starts with chorus):
And it's Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Trouble's a-brewing away down in Battersea,
Forty-five coppers got laid out last Saturday
Down at the 'Suicide Arms'.

They were laid out and numbered and chucked in the water,
And all weighted down with great big sacks of mortar,
Believe me, this place is the liveliest quarter
That you've ever seen in your life.

They sent an inspector but he didn't get far,
They bashed in his head with a whopping great crowbar,
And stuck on his tunic a dirty great show-card
To say he had now gone to rest.

My missus comes out as the pubs was a-closing,
And being a woman she must stick her nose in.
They broke all the bottles containing the sloe gin.
She bought at the 'Suicide Arms'.

My missus comes home and says 'Bill, put your hat on,
You knows I'm a lady and I'll not be sat on'.
So muggins goes out just to take all those chaps on
She met at the 'Suicide Arms'.

They blacked both my eyes and they hit me with coshes,
Sent me on a stretcher away to St Thomas's,
All I was fed on, was cow juice and poultices,
I wish I was single again.

The moral of this story which I'd like to point out,
If you sees a row, for God's sake keep your nose out.
You only gets one and your blooming light goes out
Down at the 'Suicide Arms'.