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Lyr Req: Home Made Sausages (Harry Champion)

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Jim Dixon 11 Feb 11 - 05:24 PM
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Subject: Lyr Req: Home Made Sausages (Harry Champion)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 11 Feb 11 - 05:24 PM

You can hear this song at YouTube. There are a couple of holes in my transcription, plus a few lines that don't make sense, so I figure there must be mistakes somewhere. I would appreciate your help in correcting them:

HOME MADE SAUSAGES (1912)
As recorded by Harry Champion

1. Mother met a man named Merritt once. He was the sausage king.
We had his sausage here for months. They were the real old thing.
They went and made us all so blooming fat, all day we had to lean,
Till Mother took it in her head to be his sausage queen.
She bought some skins and lumps of ... and other things as well,
But what she shoved inside those things I ain't a-going to tell.

CHORUS: Home made sausages! Mother's are the best.
Fat and fine, all the time, don't lay on your chest.
Friday they do go out our little family.
Mother, Mother, good old Mother, save some mystery.

2. Little Tommy Bowles is up with one, ones that's nice and thick.
The one we poke the fire with makes a lovely walking stick.
A burglar broke into our shop. He got a dreadful shock.
Ma hit him with a sausage and it broke his blooming clock,
And when we let them out, they all jumped out just like a frog.
We've got one chained up in the yard. It barks just like a dog. CHORUS

3. We shall make a fortune very soon if we're not old and friared.
We're selling 'em at half a crown next time for launch at most attired.
They are pretty fond of jokes as our old ... Mary Ann.
They split their sides with laughter when they're frying in the pan.
The youngsters throw them down the stairs to make them sausage rolls.
The builder round the corner borrows them for chapel bowls. CHORUS

4. There are good at knowing lot of things when they're made of pork.
You only keep them for a month and they begin to talk.
They never take a bit of notice how their kits are soft.
We lay them on the window ledge to keep away the draft.
Next Christmas time, dear Mother says, the sausages skins you'll see.
She'll fill them up with sweets and hang them on the Christmas tree. CHORUS


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