Harp, Vivian Richman of Pittsburgh sang it this way. I did it too for many years.
There was a little man and he had a little can and he used to rush the growler,
He went to a saloon on a Sunday afternoon and you should've heard the bartender holler,
No mor booze, no more booze,
No more booze on a Sunday,
No more booze, no more booze,
Gotta get your can filled Monday.
She's the only gal I love,
With a face like a horse and buggy,
Leaning up against the lake,
Oh, fireman, save my child.
No more booze...no more booze...
Another of Ms. Richman's songs from Pittsburg, PA was this one that I taught to Sally Rogers about 2 decades ago.
ISN'T IT QUEER HOW SOME WOMEN DRINK BEER?
Isn't it queer how some women drink beer,
They drink and they drink and get tight,
And the new license plan--well, it aint worth a damn,
In Soho on Saturday night.
They tell me in Soho on Saturday night,
Most everyone that you meet they are tight,
The men with their bottles and their wives with a can,
And the young girls go browsing the streets like a man.
One woman I met,She got soaking wet,
She fell in the sewer and got soaking wet.
Oh, isn't it queer...
They all toss their drinks,
Carnegie does the same,
As soon as you can drink 'em down, a round of drinks they came,
Oliver, he got blind drunk,
Carnegie couldn't see,
Frick was bad but Mellon was
A damn site worse than me.
Oh, isn't it queer how some women drink beer...