And the Band Played Something Else.
I Copyright, 1894, by Henry J. Wehman.
Written and sung by Jas. McAvoy.
I have met all kinds of people jostling through this bnsy life,
I've been full of beer and whiskey, also full of care and strife;
I have kissed all kinds of maidens, every size and every age,
I have sung most every song that I heard sung upon the stage;
I have come to meet all comers, but they're coming pretty slow,
I am ready for to let things flicker when you halloo "let her go."
Pawned my watch to keep a secret, watch keeps time and time it tells,
Since "Annie Laurie" has been murdered, now the band plays something else.
"McGinty "died an awful death, "Annie Rooney" lost her breath,
"Love, sweet love, oh, what is love?" What is love? well, it's a chess;
"Comrades," it died with consumption,
"Sweet Kate O'Connor's" in bud health;
"Maggie Murphy's Home" is butchered,
Make the band play something else.
"Lay me on the hill-side, won't you, down upon the dear old farm,"
But some one stole the hill, and when they stole the hill they done no harm,
"I whistle and wait for Katie," Mande is not in, good day,
"She was false," but you can stand it, she took poison, so they say;
No one ever sent an answer for "The Letter that never came."
They say "The Pardon came too late," and now he is not in the game;
Now they "Throw him down McCloskey," fling him "When you hear them bells,"
All those songs are dead I've motioned, won't the band play something else?
"They turned her picture to the wall," and when they did they let it fall,
Just "Twelve months ago to-night," her father did it for a stall;
Every Dago organ grinder plays it till your need it swells,
Everybody knows it backwards, tell them grind out something else.
That song, "The Convict and the Bird," that I couldn't say I've heard,
It must be doing time in Anburn, if it ain't I'll take its word:
When "Little Fishermaiden" died the tide was sick and very low,
And that's the time "The Actor's Friends" they buried, "Mother told me so."
When they burned "The old mud cabin," no one ever thought 'twould happen;
"Mary and John "were always scrapping, for "The bank it failed to-day."
All the songs wrote on mothers, have her dead like all the others;
One short year is all they live, try and fake up something else.
I never will forget the day when they murdered "Paddy Shay,"
A German band blew him to pieces, "Down at Coney Island Bay;"
Six or seven "Marguerites;" "They're after me," I hear it smells,
Dear friend, now don't play "Annie Laurie,"
For heaven's sake play something else.