(Tune: The Girl I Left Behind Me)
Learned from the singing of Ewan MacColl
Oh, me name is Mike, or Mick, if you like
And me second name is O'Reilly;
And I'm doing me best with a two-year stretch
On account of a judge named Smiley.
I know all the nobs of the flash-boys mobs,
I'm an old sky-rocket diver;
But these were mugs of Wormwood-Scrubbs,
Compared with a bloke named Ivor.
He'd a juicy smile and a slick profile
And hair like a Soho waiter.
This ancient boy was the pride and joy
Of the smart London the-ater.
This West-End star had a Rolls-Royce car,
And Jack Nowles was his driver
And the dames would sigh when this car flashed by
For they knew that it carried Ivor.
Now, Ivor saw that the worst of the war
Was the petrol-rationing system
So he said to Nowles, "We must keep the Rolls
And think of a plan to twist 'em."
This three-star hit, he was doing his bit
For the democratic nations,
So he fixed up a scheme with a gallery queen
To evade the regulations.
Well, it worked O.K. until one day
The cops asked him some questions.
And they yanked our sport, under police escort
To the London, Bow Street sessions.
His character there was stripped as bare
As the dame they called Godiva,
And the judge, with a nod, said, "A month in quod
Will help to chasten Ivor."
So...they've fixed up a cell like a posh hotel
For this scribe of tony drama.
And he strolls through the grounds in a dressing gown
And a pair of silk pajamas.
He lives like a duke and he has his own cook,
And he don't eat skilly neither,
For the governor of this lousy stir
Has a soft spot for old Ivor.
So, if you're inclined to turn to crime,
Just listen to my sons, son,
Just become a star with a Rolls-Royce car
And then you can't go wrong, son.
Who cares if a lag does a 10-years drag
If that lad ain't got a stiver,
For you surely know any mug with dough
Can do as well as Ivor.
Recorded on Bad Lads and Hard Cases, MacColl, Riverside LP 1957