Copyright, 1881, by Henry J. Wehman.
Written, Composed and Sung by Jas. McAvoy.
We've got a room in a boarding-house too small to wash your face;
We're too lazy for to leave it for to get another place;
We never see a chainber-maid from morning until night,
And the landlord, too, that keeps it he is a beauty bright;
There's 14,000 rats and 19,000 cats come in and out as often as they please;
They play hide-and-seek and tag round the wood-shed for a gag;
Every one of them has bunions on his knees.
Through the hallway the tom-cats flicker,
Where they scratch and fight and weep;
And the landlord's wife, the kicker, she won't let no one sleep;
When the daughter sings the boarders they yell, come off the perch;
When she sings that chestnut called "Comrades "they tell her go to church.
There are thirteen boarders In one room; they sleep on two bed-slats;
They're all barefooted, for they threw their boots and shoes at cats;
The porter's always full of ale; they use him for night-clerk;
he lost his sight one foggy night a-looking after work.
The landlord's daughter, Floss, her face Is full of Irish moss,
With her fellow in the parlor starts a fight;
The boarders jump like apes and fly down the fire-escapes,
And on the sidewalk yell till broad daylight.
Twinkling stars are laughing at us, for we are not dressed;
They holler to a half-starved boarder:
Chuck me down my pants and vest.
The cook she tries to run the place; she makes an awful bluff;
She has a cheese-knife in her hand to make us think she's tough.
We get beans that are thirty-five years old, blue-molded mush and buns;
The regular boarders look to me like walking-skeletons;
If you'd ever mention pie, they'd all take sick and die,
"Twould insult them if they'd get a decent meal;
The steak is tough as leather, and, when they get together
In an operated Chorus how they squeal.
No soup-then we don't get any;
Don't touch the cheese,-they let it lay there;
And as soon as they all smell the butter-
Ah, there I cover it and stay there.
There's a couple sleeps next door to me-oh, how they scrap and fight;
I'd give a dollar-bill to see their faces in daylight;
They fight four hours every night, ten minutes to each round-
At the wind-up you would fairly think the house was falling down.
The wife she goes to bed with cracked ice on her head;
The husband shoves his eye back into place.
When I try to close my eyes, in walks a gang of flies
And help the 'squitoes chew the whiskers off my face.
And how the flies and 'squitocs come early there to chew!
I'd give a million dollars to sleep an hour or two;
We are ossified already-we are hungry-now we'll stop.
If we board there one week longer, we'll both die standing up.