Frank Crummit? / Frank Crumit (songs)

Subject: Lyr Add: SONG OF THE PRUNE (Crumit, deCosta)
From: Desert Dancer
Date: 13 Oct 08 - 12:14 PM

I was noticing differences in the lyrics on the YouTube and thought I'd have a go at transcribing -- then found that RReady555 who posted the video had kindly done that for us. (He does say lyrics by Harry deCosta in his notes, but in the video has it as below.)

~ B in T


SONG OF THE PRUNE
words Frank Crumit, music Harry deCosta

Nowadays we often gaze on women over fifty
Without the slightest trace
Of wrinkles on their face.
Doctors go and take their dough to make them young and nifty,
But doctors I defy
To tell me just why:

No matter how young a prune may be, it's always full of wrinkles.
We may get them on our face.
Prunes get 'em every place.
Prohibition worries us, but prunes don't sit and brood,
For no matter how young a prune may be, it's always getting stewed.

In the kingdom of the fruits, the prune is snubbed by others,
And they are not allowed
To mingle with the crowd.
Though they're never on display with all their highbrow brothers,
They never seem to mind.
To this fact they're resigned:

That no matter how young a prune may be, it's always full of wrinkles.
Beauty treatments always fail.
They've tried all to no avail.
Other fruits are envious because they know real well
That no matter how young a prune may be, hot water makes 'em swell.

Baby prunes look like their dad,
But not wrinkled quite as bad.

Every day in every way, the world is getting better.
We've even learned to fly
As days go passing by,
But what about the poor old prune? His life is only wetter.
No wonder he can't win
In the awful stew he's in.

No matter how young a prune may be, he's always full of wrinkles.
We may get them on our face.
Prunes get 'em every place.
Nothing ever worries them; their life's an open book,
But no matter how young a prune may be, it has a worried look.

Prunes act very kind, they say, when sickly people moan,
But no matter how young a prune may be, it has a heart of stone.

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit ? (Frank Crumit)
From: GUEST,John from Elsie`s Band
Date: 13 Oct 08 - 12:35 PM

I have a recording on tape of a BBC programme about F.C. and his music and the presenter recalls the singer was also very fond of golf, of which he wrote some songs. The one featured, and considered the best he wrote about the game, in the programme is called "Donald the Dub", excellenty performed with a decent size band and sung to the tune of "The Girl I Left Behind Me". If any one is interested
let me know on [e-mail]

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit ? (Frank Crumit)
From: Will Fly
Date: 14 Oct 08 - 11:19 AM

And as performed by a Mudcatter (same words):
The Song Of The Prune (I was young and foolish...).

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit ? (Frank Crumit)
From: The Fooles Troupe
Date: 14 Oct 08 - 11:55 PM

"assisted by his wide, Julia Sanderson"

er, WIFE - not sure just how wide she was...

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit ? (Frank Crumit)
From: Ross Campbell
Date: 16 Oct 08 - 12:27 AM

Ron Baxter (SailorRon) gave his inimitable version of Kipling's "The Ladies" (no concessions to political correctness) at Fleetwood Folk Club (The Steamer) a couple of weeks ago. The tune possibly comes from Peter Bellamy's setting of the song, although I first heard the song in the early '70s, which may have been before Peter's version existed (and he may have used a pre-existing tune - I wouldn't be at all surprised if Peter Bellamy knew Frank Crumit's repertoire.) The last line sounds about the same as the Glenn Ohrlin link above.

Ross

Subject: Lyr Add: I'M A SPECIALIST (from Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 24 Sep 10 - 02:58 PM

You can find an mp3 file of this song here (or click to play).

Here's my transcription. A few words are missing or doubtful, marked by "(?)." I would appreciate any help with them.

The whole thing is done in a sort of "down-east" or Maine accent (that's what it sounds like to me, anyway). Only verses 1-3 and 10 are sung; the rest are recited rhythmically to music.


I'M A SPECIALIST
Words, Charles (Chic) Sale. Music, Nels Bitterman.
As recorded by Frank Crumit, 1931, Victor 22859.

1. My name is Lemuel Putt.
I'm a 'spector(?) and nothin' else but.
Maybe you've all heard tell
'Bout the fella makes a building so well.

2. I'm a carpenter by trade.
I make everything that's ever been made,
But now I build one thing,
And as a builder I am suddenly king.

3. I'm a specialist, and a gosh-dern good one, too.
I'm a specialist, and I'll tell you what I do.
Now I build people necessary things,
Not airyplanes that flies around in rings,
But we need 'em a durn sight(?) worse than wings
I'm a specialist.

4. Now one day Elmer Ridgeway come to me and he says, "Hmm! Now looky here.
I want you to build me a buildin' that will last from year to year."
So out to Elmer's place I goes to look things over, every foot.
Company's there, so I just yell, "Hey, Elmer, where do you want 'er put?"

5. Well, Elmer says, "My problem is to put 'er where she'll handy be.
Now I been thinkin' that I would build 'er right underneath my apple tree."
But I says, "Elmer, listen to me. Now don't you be a silly goof.
Nothin's quite so bad as hearin' apples droppin' on your roof.

6. "Just have your path go past the woodpile to the house right in a straight line.
Now, if you'll do just as I tell you, everything will turn out fine.
For every trip they'll gather wood, which is a gosh-almighty boon,
For on a good day, why, you will have your derned old wood box filled by noon.

7. "The upkeep's practically nothin'. The cost is cut right to the bone.
You will never have to worry as long as Sears Roebuck keeps a-goin'.
Someone asked me, 'Lem, what is the average life of this here book?'
Now there's a problem that I have studied. Time an' trouble I have took.

8. "New book's out in January, and say you get it on New Year's Day.
Well, you should reach the harness section somewheres round the fust of May.
And how do you want your door to open? Swingin' in or swingin' out?
I'd say have 'er swingin' in and save your mind a lot o' doubt.

9. "Just say you're meditatin' peaceful, the air an' sunlight beatin' in,
S'pose you hear someone a-comin' down the pathway fast as sin.
If your door swings in, why, all you got to do is to kick 'er shut,
But if she swings out, huh! You're caught there, sure as my name's Lemuel Putt."

10. I'm a specialist, and a gosh-dern good one, too.
I'm a specialist, and I'll tell you what I do.
Now ever since Eve et that Northern Spy,
There's time folks likes to shun the public eye,
So a much needed blessing I supply.
I'm a specialist.

Subject: Lyr Add: MOUNTAIN GREENERY (Hart/Rodgers)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 24 Sep 10 - 07:41 PM

You can find an mp3 file of this song on this page (or click to play). Note: a version by Ella Fitzgerald can also be found on that page, but it's less complete than this one.

This is not the kind of novelty song Frank Crumit is usually remembered for, but this song does contain some clever rhymes.


MOUNTAIN GREENERY
Words, Lorenz Hart. Music, Richard Rodgers.
From The Garrick Gaieties of 1926.
As recorded by Frank Crumit.

On the first of May,
It is moving day.
Spring is here, so blow your job,
Throw your job away.
Now's the time to trust
To your wanderlust.
In the city's dust you wait.
Must you wait?
Just you wait!

In a mountain greenery,
Where God paints the scenery,
Just two crazy people together.
While you love your lover, let
Blue skies be your coverlet.
When it rains, we'll laugh at the weather.
And if you're good,
I'll search for wood
So you can cook
While I stand look—ing.
Beans could get no keener re-
Ception in a beanery.
Bless our mountain greenery home!

In a mountain greenery,
Where God paints the scenery,
Just two crazy people together.
How we love sequestering
Where no pests are pestering.
No dear ma to hold us in tether
Mosquitoes here
Won't bite you, dear.
I'll let them sting
Me on the fing—er.
We could find no cleaner re-
Treat from life's machinery
Than our mountain greenery home.

When the world was young, old Father Adam with sin would grapple,
So we're entitled to just one apple.
I mean to make applesauce.
Underneath the bough, we'll learn a lesson from Mister Omar.*
Beneath the eyes of no pa and no ma[r],
Old lady nature is boss.

And if you're good,
I'll search for wood
So you can cook
While I stand look—ing.
Beans could get no keener re-
Ception in a beanery.
Bless our mountain greenery home!


[* Omar Khayyam, author of this much-quoted quatrain, in Fitzgerald's translation:

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit? / Frank Crumit
From: GUEST
Date: 24 Sep 10 - 07:50 PM

Jim-
Lorenz Hart did a lot of very clever lyrics.

Subject: Lyr Add: I MARRIED THE BOOTLEGGER'S DAUGHTER
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 24 Sep 10 - 08:23 PM

You can find a playable recording of this song at SkreemR.org.


I MARRIED THE BOOTLEGGER'S DAUGHTER
Words and music by Frank Crumit.
As recorded by Frank Crumit, June 10, 1925, Victor 19739.

One day just by chance,
At a cabdriver's dance,
A wonderful girlie I found:
A bootlegger's daughter
Who always drank water
Unless there was liquor around.

So I married the bootlegger's daughter,
And really it isn't so bad.
I work all the day,
But it's nothing but play,
Just taking out orders for Dad.
I know that the stuff's full of poison,
But me and my sweetie won't die.
When we want a drink,
We go out to the sink,
The bootlegger's daughter and I.

When I asked her to wed,
"Go to father," she said.
"He's down at the still making gin."
Said he, "It's with joy
That I welcome you, boy.
Just hang up your hat and come in."

So I married the bootlegger's daughter,
And she was a terrible quince.
I kissed her goodnight
Where the moonlight was bright,
And I've been on a jag ever since.
They say that her money is tainted,
Though it ain't quite as taint as they say.
She came with a breath
That would scare you to death,
But Listerine took it away.

So I married the bootlegger's daughter,
And now I'm just rolling in dough.
The way she drinks gin
Is a terrible sin,
But girls will be girls, as you know.
Prohibition's the least of our worries,
Though the whole bloomin' world may go dry.
Her dad made his will
And he left the old still
To the bootlegger's daughter and I.

Oh, hail, hail, the gang's all here.
Mustn't say the naughty word.
Mustn't say the naughty word.

I'm meeting the very best people
And moving in high society.
Tonight the Mexican consul
Is bathing the tonsil
With the bootlegger's daughter and me.

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit? / Frank Crumit
From: Steve Gardham
Date: 25 May 12 - 03:51 PM

Interesting, Eboy.
Is this one of Frank's stories?

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit? / Frank Crumit
From: kendall
Date: 25 May 12 - 11:52 PM

hen I added that Abdul a bul bul amir sequel to the DT, I didn't know that it was a Frank Crummit song. Very clever.

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit? / Frank Crumit
From: GUEST,Anna Bennett
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 02:59 AM

When Arthur Godfrey was a guest on television in the late 1950s, Frank Crumit's photo was shown as one of the people responsible for giving Arthur Godfrey his start on his radio show program. Frank Crumit introduced Arthur Godfrey to radio and the ukelele. The Frank Crummit and Julia Sanderson radio show was a forerunner of Arthur Godfrey.

Subject: Lyr Add: AND THEN HE TOOK UP GOLF (from F Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 10:03 AM

AND THEN HE TOOK UP GOLF
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Frank Crumit Returns (1920-1938)"

He was a stylish handsome chap,
Had the world right in his lap.
His manners and his smile were simply charming.
His clothes were always neat,
Quite successful and discreet.
His life was so complete 'twas quite alarming.
And then he took up golf.

Now he wanders round at night,
Only waiting till it's light
So he can take his clubs and start to play.
It costs him plenty every time.
When he wins, it's just a dime.
His bankroll's getting slimmer every day.
He wears socks of baby blue,
Ties and shirts of every hue.
His color scheme would make a bluebird scoff.
Some good friend should take a rifle,
For he is an awful eyeful
Ever since he took up golf.

[Spoken:] And married men play golf, too.

He was a wonderful family man,
Doing all a husband can
To keep his wife and children awfully happy.
He lived for them alone
And never left his own hearthstone,
Just an all-American pappy.
And then he took up golf [pronounced here "golluff"].

Now at night his family wait.
Cook is sore; the dinner's late,
And often now he doesn't come at all.
There is sulfur in the air.
He's as cheerful as a bear
As they hear him kick a hat-rack in the hall.
There's a wild look in his eyes
As he curses, groans, or sighs
And throws a plate at Jenny, Bill, or Rolf.
In his sleep he pans his caddy.
Oh, he's quite a different daddy
Ever since he took up golf.

Now when shadows start to creep,
He comes home and wants to sleep.
His family hardly see him anymore.
His face is awfully dour,
And his manner very sour.
He keeps mumbling and grumbling 'bout his score.
His kids say now and then:
"Mama, here's that man again.
We knew him when he took his sweater off."
There are brambles in his hair
And his sand is everywhere
Ever since he took up golf.

Subject: Lyr Add: ANTONIO PASQUALE RAMONIO (Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 11:14 AM

ANTONIO PASQUALE RAMONIO
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Vintage Recordings 1926-1938"

Did you ever meet Tony Ramonio?
In his country the call him a Romeo.
All the girls they grow craze'
Through one look in the faze
Of Antony Pasquale Ramonio.
He wears ties just the shade of pistachio,
With a great big ferocious mustachio,
And a watch-chain so large,
Stretched across his garage,
That spells three-ninety-eight in cold cash-io.

He sings opera from Faust to Il Trovatore.
You can hear him from Naples to Singapore.
When he first hit Broadway,
He let loose his high A,
And he broke all the lights in the semaphore.
He went up for a test on the radio,
To sing Ave Maria with a lady-o,
But the strength of his breath
Nearly scared her to death.
That's the last test that he ever made-io.

Now Pasquale was always a struggler.
And one day he got a tip from a juggler.
His mustache it could hide
Twenty people inside,
So he landed a job as a smuggler.
He made three trips a week into Canada.
He would pose as a well-to-do janita,
And in less than a year,
He made ten thousand clear,
Which he lost on a horse called Armanada.

In the opera his name was notorious,
So they gave him a part that was glorious,
But he tried to be choice,
Used a falsetto voice,
And they shoved him right back in the chorius.
Now since Pasquale lost all of his money-o,
He found life over here was no honey-o,
So he packed up today
And he's sailing away
To the land of his birth where it's sunny-o.

Subject: Lyr Add: DONALD THE DUB (from Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 12:01 PM

DONALD THE DUB
As sung by Frank Crumit on "1930 in Music, Vol. 2"
Tune: "The Girl I Left Behind Me."

Listen to the tale of a stalwart male
Who lost his well-known nanny.
Donald was his name and golf was the game
That made him as grey as his granny.
He practiced much but his style was such
That his handicap stayed at thirty.
Oh, the words he'd use when the ball he'd bruise
Were nothing else than dirty.

In the locker-room every night,
He'd sing of his awful plight:

"Oh, the dirty little pill went rollin' down the hill
And rolled right into a bunker.
From there to the green I took thirteen,
And then by gosh I sunk 'er.
I get no fun in the air and sun
But down in the traps I labor.
I sweat and weep where the sand is deep
Till I want to murder my neighbor."

There was one great day that came his way.
His score he was sure to diminish.
Never had such form, then up came a storm.
He was never able to finish.
He had a slice that was far from nice.
From him it never parted.
Once he hit a shot, believe it or not,
That came right back where it started.

Do you wonder that he groans
And sighs and wails and moans?

"Oh, the dirty little pill went rollin' down the hill
And rolled into the water,
And the reason, it would seem, I lifted my bean
When I know that I shouldn't oughter.
Then I hit a shot that I liked a lot,
But it sailed right into the marshes,
And I wished right then like a lot of other men
That I had worn my galoshes."

Now Donald the Dub joined a country club
And he found a fellow duffer
Just as mad as he, so with shouts of glee,
They started out to suffer.
They played nine holes and the poor little moles
Were never scared so badly,
For the divots flew and the cuss-words too
And the birds and the bees left gladly.

As the end of the day drew nigh,
Came a song that was sung with a sigh:

"Oh, the dirty little pill went rollin' down the hill
And rolled right into the clubhouse.
When I got there with sand in my hair.
They'd changed its name to the Dub House
I've wrecked more ground than Columbus found,
And the guy that I am after
Is the crazy Scot who invented this plot
That's robbed all the world of laughter."

Now Donald the Dub broke club after club
As he told the world goodbye,
For he suffered every hour when his game went sour,
Even as you and I.

Subject: Lyr Add: DOWN BY THE RAILROAD TRACK (Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 12:41 PM

DOWN BY THE RAILROAD TRACK
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Frank Crumit Returns (1920-1938)"

I had a girl named Annabel; she thought the world of me,
But for some cause her family and I could not agree,
And if I called there at her house, 'twas sure to start a fight,
So for that reason we would take a walk each Wednesday night
Down by the railroad track,
Down by the railroad track.
I'd hold her hand and she'd hold mine,
Down by the railroad track.

Some people spoon in parlor chairs and some in Ford sedans,
But Annabel and I we had to make some other plans.
We couldn't use the parlor, and we had no Ford, you see,
So every Wednesday night you'd find sweet Annabel and me
Down by the railroad track,
Down by the railroad track.
We'd sit for hours and hours and hours
Down by the railroad track.

I courted her for seven months until one summer's day
Her father found it out and then there was the deuce to pay.
He said, "Young man, come here to me; I want a word with you."
And where do you think I found myself when finally I came to?
Down by the railroad track,
Down by the railroad track.
The birds were singing merrily
Down by the railroad track.

We're married now and settled down with children of our own.
Across the door there hangs a sign that says: "God bless our home."
Both she and I take walks each night, but up and down the floor
To try and get the kids to sleep; we never walk no more
Down by the railroad track,
Down by the railroad track.
I wonder who is there tonight,
Down by the railroad track?

It seems to me the big events that happened in my life—
Like smoking my first cigarette, proposing to my wife—
All happened in the selfsame place; 'twas sure a jinx to me,
And still there's couples there each day; they call it heavenly,
Down by the railroad track,
Down by the railroad track.
That's where I lost my liberty:
Down by the railroad track.

The other day our little girl said: "Mama, tell me do:
If good girls go to heaven, do the bad girls go there too?"
"No, just good girls go to heaven, dear," the mother softly sighed.
"Then, mama, where do the bad girls go?" And Annabel replied:
"Down by the railroad track.
Down by the railroad track.
Now run and play and don't you stray
Down by the railroad track."

Subject: Lyr Add: GET AWAY, OLD MAN, GET AWAY (Frank Crumit
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 03:40 PM

My transcription from this YouTube recording:


GET AWAY, OLD MAN, GET AWAY
As sung by Frank Crumit on HMV E A 88.

1. Now listen, all you maidens about to choose a man:
Don't take one who is ancient; get a young one if you can.

CHORUS: For an old man he is old; for an old man he is grey,
But a young man's heart is full of love; get away, old man; get away.

2. If you marry an old man, now list to what I say:
You're sure to meet a young man who'll steal your heart away.

3. Be sure to get a young man with a red and rosy cheek.
Don't get a man with a cane in his hand whose back is very weak.

4. I'd rather marry a young man with a pocket lined with silk
Than to marry an old man with a hundred cows to milk.

5. I'd sooner marry a young man with an apple in his hand
Than to marry an old man with a hundred acres of land.

6. Don't ever marry an old man; I'll tell you the reason why:
His lips are all tobacco juice and his chin is never dry.

Get away; get away; get away.
Get away; get away; get away.
Shoo, fly; don't bother me; shoo, fly; don't bother me.
Get away, old man; get away.


[Also recorded on 78-rpm records by Harry Carpenter, Vernon Dalhart, Honey Duke & His Uke, Arthur Fields, Dick Hanlon, Jimmy May, Charlie Newman, Carson Robison, Floyd Thompson & Hometowners]

Subject: Lyr Add: I CAN'T STAND SITTIN' IN A CELL (F.Crumit
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 04:13 PM

I CAN'T STAND SITTIN' IN A CELL
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Frank Crumit Returns (1920-1938)"

I'm writin' you this letter, my sweet forget-me-not,
To tell you that I cannot keep that date.
They've stuck me in the hoosegow for forty-seven years,
And I'd hate to see you stand around and wait.
The place is nice and cozy; you can't get out of that.
For ninety years they've had no prison break,
And the food is very tasty; the guards are all polite,
But there's one complaint I really have to make:

Oh, I can't stand sittin' in a cell.
No, I can't stand sittin' in a cell.
When I stand, I hit the ceiling.
When I sit, I hurt my feeling.
I can't stand sittin' in a cell.

I'm takin' music lessons; I'm in the prison band.
Well, anyhow, I'll tell you all the facts.
The sheriff told the jury he saw me blow a safe,
So they took his word and now I blow a sax.
They say that I'm a genius and the warden thinks I'm great.
He has me playin' morning night and noon.
He wants to hear me render a solo on a saw,
So if he gets me a saw, I'll see you soon.

Oh, I can't stand sittin' in a cell.
No, I can't stand sittin' in a cell.
Though I stood a hard-boiled egg up,
Even stood a wooden leg up,
I can't stand sittin' in a cell.

I dug myself a tunnel to make a getaway.
I had to be as quiet as a mouse.
And I landed in a cellar, and when I looked around,
I discovered I was in the warden's house.
And the warden came a-runnin; a gun was in his hand.
He saw the hole when he turned on the light.
And he dove into the tunnel and he hollered, "You're a pal,
Cause my wife was gonna keep me in tonight."

Oh, I can't stand sittin' in a cell.
No, I can't stand sittin' in a cell.
I can stand a lot o' callus
On my feet, but goodnight, Alice!
I can't stand sittin' in a cell.

Subject: Lyr Add: DOLAN'S POKER PARTY (from Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 08:46 PM

DOLAN'S POKER PARTY
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Vintage Recordings 1926-1938"

Four aces and a joker
Is a lovely hand at poker.
All the money in the pot is yours accordin' to the law.
Though I never like to gamble,
Let me say without preamble
That I am a trifle partial to a quiet game o' draw.
On Thursday night, McCarty
Organized a poker party.
There was Dolan, Martin, Doyle, and Riley, six of us in all.
Oh, the game was very quiet
But it ended in a riot.
Sure they overturned the stove and smashed the pictures on the wall.

Listen and I'll tell ye how the trouble did begin:
Dolan opened up a pot and three of us went in.
'Twas opened for a quarter, and when Dolan won the pot,
He counted it and found that sixty cents was all he got.
Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho!

For Dolan got excited
And declared that he would right it.
He got up and intimated he was ready for a bout.
Then he reached for Riley's Galways*
Which he carried with him always,
And before we could prevent it, he had plucked a handful out.
Just to keep the ball a-rollin',
I declared meself a Dolan.
Sure they threw me on the floor an' slammed the stove upon me back.
You should 'a' seen the lot of noses.
They looked like a bunch of roses.
That's the luck I had the night that Dolan opened up the jack.

All the furniture was broken,
And I carry yet a token
Of the luck I had the night that Dolan opened up the jack.

- - -
[* I don't know what this refers to—unless he means Gauloises?]

Subject: Lyr Add: MY GIRL RAN AWAY (from Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 01 Apr 13 - 10:40 PM

MY GIRL RAN AWAY
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Vintage Recordings 1926-1938"

Little Petey has lost his sweetie.
Someone stole her away.
Her misbehaving has sent him raving.
He keeps crying all day:

My girl ran away with a baker.
I found out she kneaded his dough.
Somewhere in the yeast he will take her,
Though he is not well-bread I know.
He has lots of crust and he carries a bun.
It was pie for that guy to steal my own sweet one.
My girl ran away with a baker.
He's made a big loafer of me.

My girl ran away with a shoe-man.
I'm sad 'cause he's filling my shoe.
I had a defeet by the shoe-man.
Now each day my size makes me blue.
Though my French vamp kid said she'd stick to the last,
Made a rip in my sole that I know won't heel fast.
My girl ran away with a shoe-man.
I hope they will always have spats.

My girl ran away with an oil-man.
She did not treat me well at that.
She is too refined for the oil-man,
But he gushed till he made her fall.
Though he is as crude as a Mexican peat,
With his own standard line of gas, he had me beat.
My girl ran away with an oil-man.
The oily bird catches the worm.

My girl ran away with a butcher.
Now I can't meat her every night.
She went to Hamburg with the butcher.
Oh, why did I liver from my side?
Though I live on the vegetarian plan,
I would be a real cannibal to meat that man.
My girl ran away with a butcher.
Oh, I lung for my heart every day.

My girl ran away with a dentist.
He yanked my tootsie right away.
She sits on the bridge with a dentist.
Oh, I'd like to crown him some fine day.
Although she is false, there's none can fill her place.
She's made an impression that I can't erase.
My girl ran away with a dentist.
Oh, I hope that he gets pyorrhea.

My girl ran away with the army.
Maybe with the navy she's gone.
I know she'll be true to the army,
For her love is too strong for one.
She kisses her friends, only turns others down,
But she hasn't an enemy at all in the town.
My girl ran away with the army.
Prepare for another big war.

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit? / Frank Crumit
From: Sanjay Sircar
Date: 02 Apr 13 - 04:18 AM

What were the stories that Frank Crum(m)it recorded, as mentioned above, please? (I assume these were spokem. not sung ballads.)

Sanjay Sircar

Subject: Lyr Add: NETTIE IS THE NITWIT OF THE NETWORKS
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 02 Apr 13 - 10:00 AM

NETTIE IS THE NITWIT OF THE NETWORKS
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Vintage Recordings 1926-1938"

In the old Virginia mountains lived a gal named Nettie Grey,
And Nettie was a numskull, you can bet.
Her pa and ma and kin-folk wanted to give her away,
But no one wanted any truck with Net.
For she was stupid, she was goofy, and she rambled wild and free,
Until one day a stranger hit the hills.
He was a radio comedian with no more sense than she,
And he lured her with a bunch of dollar bills.
Now Nettie is the nitwit of the networks.
She's goofy still, but also dirty rich.
For in the bug-house they were shovin' her.
Now she earns more than the governor.
Oh, Nettie is the nitwit of the networks.

When the hill folks of Virginia first heard that Net was gone,
They said, "Thank goodness we are rid of her.
We'd hate to have to put her in the bug-house all her life,
But folks like Net is what bug-houses are fer."
Oh, the old Virginia hills they were quiet for a spell.
No more they heard poor Nettie's goofy crow.
But alas the stillness one night was shattered with a crash,
And there was Net upon the radio.
Now Nettie is the nitwit of the networks,
And her folks all wish that they were crazy too.
She lived on cheese and crackers.
Now she earns a million smackers,
For Nettie is the nitwit of the networks.

In a penthouse on Park Avenue our nitwit Nettie sat,
And the tear-drops still come out her goofy eye.
Her pappy and her mammy said, "Have you left Virginia flat?
Is it thinking of them hills that make you cry?"
Nettie wiped her eyes upon her gold-embroidered sleeve,
And whispered, "All you folks can have my part.
Of all the old Virginia hills and the lakes and rivers too,
It's that income tax that really breaks my heart."
Now Nettie is the nitwit of the networks,
Between her family and Uncle Sam.
Not for home is she a-yearnin'.
It's the tax that's got her burnin',
For Nettie is the nitwit of the networks.

Subject: Lyr Add: PALESTEENA (from Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 02 Apr 13 - 11:57 AM

From the sheet music at The Archive of Popular Music at UCLA:


PALESTEENA
Words and music by Con Conrad and J. Russel Robinson
New York: Shapiro, Bernstein & Co. Inc., ©1920.

1. In the Bronx of New York City
Lives a girl; she's not so pretty.
Lena is her name.
Such a clever girl is Lena!
How she plays a concertina!
Really it's a shame.
She's such a good musician,
She got a swell position,
To go across the sea to entertain,
And so they shipped poor Lena
'Way out to Palesteena,
But now I hear that she don't look the same.

CHORUS: They say that Lena is the Queen o' Palesteena,
Just because they like her concertina.
She plays it day and night.
She plays with all her might.
She never gets it right,
But how they love it,
Want more of it!
I heard 'er
Play once or twice.
Oh, murder!
Still it was nice.
She was fat but she got leaner
Pushing on her concertina,
Down old Palesteena way.

2. Lena's girlfriend Arabella
Let her meet an Arab fella.
She thought he was grand.
On a camel's back a-swayin',
You could hear Miss Lena playin'
O'er the desert sand.
She didn't play such new ones,
For all she knew were blue ones.
Still, Yousoff sat and listened by his tent,
And as he tried to kiss her,
She heard that Arab whisper,
"Oh! Lena, how I love your instrument."

CHORUS: They say that Lena is the Queen o' Palesteena,
Just because they like her concertina.
Each movement of her wrist
Just makes them shake and twist.
They simply can't resist.
Her music funny
Gets the money.
There's nottin'
Sounds like it should
So rotten,
It's really good.
All the girls there dress like Lena.
Some wear oatmeal, some farina,
Down old Palesteena way.

* * *
[When Frank Crumit recorded this, he sang the chorus this way:]

CHORUS: They say that Lena is the Queen o' Palesteena,
Just because she plays the concertina.
She only knows one song.
She plays it all day long.
Sometimes she plays it wrong,
But how they love it,
Want more of it!
I heard 'er
Play once or twice.
Oh, murder!
Still it was nice.
All the girls there dress like Lena.
Some wear oatmeal, some farina,
Down old Palesteena way.

[Crumit's recording is on "Frank Crumit Returns (1920-1938)"]

Subject: Lyr Add: STUMBLING (Zez Confrey)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 03 Apr 13 - 01:03 AM

From the sheet music at the Archive of Popular Music at UCLA:

STUMBLING
Words and music by Zez Confrey
New York: Leo. Feist, Inc., ©1922.

1. 'Tention, folks; speak of jokes,
This is one on me:
Took my gal to a dance
At the Armory.
Music played, dancers swayed,
Then we joined the crowd.
I can't dance, took a chance,
And right then we started:

CHORUS: Stumbling all around, stumbling all around, stumbling all around,
So funny,
Stumbling here and there, stumbling ev'rywhere, and I must declare,
I stepped right on her toes,
And when she bumped my nose,
I fell, and when I rose,
I felt ashamed,
And told her:
That's the latest step, that's the latest step, that's the latest step,
My honey,
Notice all the pep, notice all the pep, notice all the pep.
She said, "Stop mumbling,
Though you are stumbling,
I like it just a little bit, just a little bit, quite a little bit."

2. Young and small, short and tall,
Folks 'most ev'rywhere,
Take a chance; do this dance.
They think it's a bear.
People rave and they crave
Just to do this step.
Off they go, nice and slow,
When the band starts playing: CHORUS

[Billy Murray and Frank Crumit each did vocal versions of this song, but I think most people will find it more familiar as an instrumental, performed by Lawrence Welk or by Les Paul & Mary Ford.]

Subject: Lyr Add: THANKS FOR THE BUGGY RIDE (Buffano)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 03 Apr 13 - 09:15 AM

THANKS FOR THE BUGGY RIDE
Words and music by Jules Buffano, ©1925
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Roaring 20's Revue Vol. 3"

The other day I took a ride, but not in a machine.
It was a buggy ride
With my sweetie by my side.
Now making love going fifty miles an hour
Don't compare with a one-horse power.
Many cars I tried,
But give me a buggy ride.

Thanks for the buggy ride.
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.
No smell of gasoline,
Just and old-fashioned team.
It was a wonderful treat
To hear the patter of horses' feet.
My bones were nearly broke.
I took it as a joke.
It was all new to me,
'Cause I was used to riding in a big limousine,
But buggy-ridin' lovin' sure beats any machine.
Now although I lost my pride,
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.

Now since I took that buggy ride, that's all I want to do.
No more machine for me,
Takin' chances hittin' a tree.
Let me give you some sensible advice:
A buggy ride is awfully nice.
Though it's not in style,
The ride sure is worthwhile.

Thanks for the buggy ride.
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.
I like to smell the hay
And watch the chickens play.
I crave the colorful scene
Where pigs are gamboling on the green.
He set an awful pace.
He couldn't win the race
From an old-fashioned snail.
I never never knew a horse could be so good in the dark.
He must 'a' found a hundred diff'rent places to park.
Why, gosh-durn his pesky hide.
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.

Thanks for the buggy ride.
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.
No smell of gasoline,
Just and old-fashioned team.
It was a wonderful treat
To hear the patter of horses' feet.
My bones were nearly broke.
I took it as a joke.
It was all new to me.
These fellas with their motorcycles hand me a laugh.
The girlie in the tub was like a-takin' a bath.
Still, I'm more than satisfied.
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.

Wait for the wagon; wait for the wagon.
Wait for the wagon; we'll all take a ride.

[The last 2 lines are quoted from another song.]

* * *
[I transcribed the following lines from a recording by The Dinning Sisters; it can be heard on "Back in Country Style," "Country Favorites," and "The Very Best of the Dinning Sisters."]

We'd hear the clop, clop, clop of the horse's feet
Wherever we would go,
And people we would meet
As we were riding down the street
Would say: "Look! A horse! What do you know?"

Thanks for the buggy ride.
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.
No need of shifting gears.
We didn't even have to steer.
When we said giddy-ap,
The horse would hurry up.
No automatic clutch.
We didn't miss it much
'Cause we were havin' such fun.
On a horse-an'-buggy ride you kind o' get chummy.
It's much more fun than playin' gin rummy.
Thanks for the buggy ride.
I had a wonderful time.

[Other recordings available on Spotify are by Percival Mackey and His Band, and by Burl Ives.]

Subject: Lyr Add: THE DASHING MARINE (from Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 03 Apr 13 - 03:35 PM

THE DASHING MARINE
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Frank Crumit Returns (1920-1938)"

How happy was I when my darling Marie
Gave me her promise my bride she would be,
And live in a one-room apartment with me,
Like two little birds in a tree;
But my love-dream was shattered when one fateful day—
Oh, could I have only foreseen!—
While sitting with her in a gilded cafe,
She made eyes at a dashing marine.
When he saw Marie, it was all up with me.
My romance blew up like a dream.
I knew I was through when Marie got a view
Of this mashing and dashing marine.

I called her up daily to go for a stroll,
But she was that devil-dog's, body and soul,
So I took an oath that the burglar who stole
My sweetheart should die right away.
I purchased a pistol, a sword, and a knife,
And some cyanide tablets to boot,
And I set out determined to take his foul life.
I'd stab or I'd poison or shoot.
But when I got there, the apartment was bare.
Oh, picture this terrible scene!
I then found a note: "Love and kisses," he wrote,
From Mr. and Mrs. Marine."

I went to his colonel, and to my dismay,
I found he'd deserted the previous day,
And with my Marie he was well on his way
To ports that were festive and gay.
Days ran into months and the months into years.
Not a sign of my foe did I see,
And after a while I began to have fears
That no vengeance was coming to me.
One night in the movies I saw on the screen
A prize-winning fam'ly with children eighteen,
And right in the center, all fat and serene,
Sat Mr. and Mrs. Marine.

My quest was now ended, but strange to relate,
All gone were those feelings of malice and hate.
Of that dashing marine and his home-loving mate,
My thoughts were delightful and nice.
I sighed with relief for no life would I take.
My conscience would ever be free.
As I threw all my weapons out into the lake,
A peace settled down upon me.
When I saw Marie with a child on each knee,
And counted her children eighteen,
I knew then and there that at last I was square
With that mashing and dashing marine.

Subject: RE: Frank Crummit? / Frank Crumit
From: Ron Davies
Date: 04 Apr 13 - 08:06 AM

Wow, Jim, what a trove!   Thanks.

Subject: Lyr Add: WHOA, JOSEPHINE! (from Frank Crumit)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 04 Apr 13 - 10:11 AM

WHOA, JOSEPHINE!
Written by Benjamin H. Burt & Frank Crumit.
As sung by Frank Crumit on "Vintage Recordings 1926-1938"

The slickest horse I ever seen
Was my old gray mare Josephine.
When her old feet flew down the street,
She had all the other horses beat.
She couldn't see for good, for she had only one good eye,
But she could see enough, b'gee, to let no horse go by.
When Josephine stuck up her tail and hit her reg'lar stride,
'Twa'n't possibill to keep 'er still, or stop 'er if you tried.
"Whoa, Josephine!" all the neighbors cried,
But the more they yelled at her to whoa,
The faster that old nag would go.
Whoa, Josephine! Well, I declare!
Until she'd drop, you couldn't stop the old gray mare.

One day I rode the old gray mare
Over to the county fair.
She stood as peaceful as a lamb
Until the races they began,
And then, b'gosh, she jumped the fence and started round the track,
And she kept on goin' round and round with me upon her back.
They tried to head off Josephine but it was all in vain.
She'd wave her tail and then she'd sail around the track again.
"Whoa, Josephine!" ev'rybody cried.
When she'd go past the judges' stand,
She'd bow and keep step with the band.
Whoa, Josephine! Well, I declare!
She lost a shoe, but on she flew, the old gray mare.

When Ringling's circus give their show,
I says to ma, "B'gosh, we'll go!"
So ma puts on her grenadine,
And I hitched up old Josephine.
The old horse eyed the street parade and she never moved a speck,
But when an elephant tried to wind his trunk around her neck,
She kicked the dashboard all to "well" and started for the farm,
And she hardly hit the road a bit till she was in the barn.
"Whoa, Josephine!" ev'rybody cried.
When she flew by the village store,
She looked, b'gosh, like Man o' War!
Whoa, Josephine! Well, I declare!
Right home she run, that son of a gun, that old gray mare.

Subject: Lyr Add: TALE OF THE TICKER (O'Brien/Crumit)
From: GUEST,Mark
Date: 19 Apr 13 - 03:42 PM

TALE OF THE TICKER
music by Frank Crumit and lyrics by Frank O'Brien
(written in September, 1929 - a month or two before the crash)

This little pig went to market, where they buy and sell the stocks.
This little pig came home again, with his system full of shocks.
I don't understand their language, don't know what it's all about,
For a bull buys up and a bear sells down and a broker sells you out.

[Chorus]
And here is the song they sing the whole day long:
Oh! the market's not so good today; your stocks look kind of sick.
In fact they all drop down a point each time the tickers tick.
We'll have to have more margin now; there isn't any doubt,
So you better dash with a load of cash, or we'll have to sell you out.

The stock exchange is a funny place; it's the strangest place in town.
The seats cost half a million cash, but the brokers won't sit down.
There's the broker, the bull, and bear; it's queer but it's not a joke,
For you get the bull till your bank-roll's bare and the broker says you're broke.

[Chorus]

The market simply goes to prove that we still have loco weeds,
For the bull buys what he doesn't want, and the bear sells what he needs.
I bought an elevator stock, and thought that I'd done well,
And the little bears all ran down-stairs and rang the basement bell.

[Chorus]