One time in Alexandria, The wicked city by the Nile, Where night-life was a mania, And souls were only pawns the while, There lived, historians report, A dame adventurous and game, The pride of Nile's far-famed resort, And Thais was her name.
Nearby, in peace and piety, There dwelt a band of holy men Avoiding all society, Who'd built a retreat for only men. And in the desert's solitude They spurned all worldly pleasure, And gave their lives to rectitude, To fasting, and to holy labor.
One monk who'd left the ranks of Baal To join this group of holy men, Was known to men as Athanael. His fame had spread to all the world. At fasting or at prayer bouts No other could compare with him. At grand and lofty prayer shouts He'd do the course with pep and vim
One night while sleeping heavily (From fighting with the devil He'd gone to bed unsteadily While the burning sun was shining still) He had a vision Freudian; And tho he was annoyed and ill, He analysed, like Adrian, In the styles of Doctors Jung and Brill.
He dreamed of Alexandria, The wicked city by the Nile; A crowd of men were leering, In a manner somewhat vile, At Thais who was dancing there. And Athanael, who thot them rude, Observed her do the shimmy In what artists call the nude.
Said he, "This dream fantastical Disturbs my holy thots so well Desires unmonastical Assail I fear my monkish cell. I've blushed up to my galleria Viewing this girl's anatomy; I'll go to Alexandria And save her soul from Hell."
So pausing not to wonder where He'd put his summer underclothes, He quickly packed his evening wear, His toothbrush and his silken hose, To guard against the weather's bite; He added a woolen sweater vest, And bidding all the boys good night, He started on his human quest.
The monk, tho warned and fortified, On his arrival one sunny day Was deeply shocked and mortified To find debauchery in sway; While some lay in a stupor sent By booze prescribed by Doctor Gray, The others all were acting In a most immoral way.
Said he to Thais, "Pardon me, I got to put you wise to Hell, And, tho this job is hard on me, That's what I came down here to tell. What's all this sousin' gettin you? Let's hit the trail and all will be well. Cut out this pie-eyed retinue And save yourself from Hell."
Spite of this bold astonishment She coyly answered, "So," Trying to hide astonishment, "You said a heaping mouthful, Bo. This burg's a frost, I'm tellin' you. The brand of hooch you get for dough Ain't like the stuff we used to brew, So let's pack up and go."
So forth from Alexandria, The wicked city by the Nile, Across the desert sands they go And leave behind the city vile; 'Til Thais, parched and sweltering Beneath the blazing of the sun, Takes refuge in a convent And the habit of a nun.
But now the monk is terrified To find his fears attack amain His vows of holy chastity Which crack beneath the strain. Like one who's toted home a jag, He cries out in his grief and pain, "I'll sell my soul to see her do The shimmy once again.
Alas! His pleading amorous And passionate have come too late. The courtesan filled with piety And prayer, has made her final date. The monk says, "That's a joke on me, For that there dame to pass away; I hadn't oughter passed her up The time I had it all my way."
1927. Immortalia pp.115-118. Although attributed to Newman Levy, it is a variant to the copyrighted version.
I believe I have several more salacious versions of this song and perhaps a field recording.