WASHDAY IN OUR FLAT.
Copyright, 1891, by DuBois & Talbot.
Words And Music by H. S. Talbot
If you want to strike a picnic, a reg'lar first-class jignic,
Just come up to our flat on Monday morn;
You'll hear a tip-top wrangle, a jingle and a jangle,
The like of which you've not heard since you're born.
You all must know that Monday is the washday in this town,
The day that makes the ladies all so cross:
Why they all pick the same day, to use the small backyard,
Is a problem which to solve I am at loss.
There's a jingle and a jangle, a wringle and a wrangle,
It makes me think of a Kilkenny cat;
The way those women chew the rag. "twould make a phonograph quite sad,
To hear them on washday in our flat.
Our flat is rather humble, the people in a jumble,
They come from ev'ry clime throughout the earth;
There's brogues of all descriptions, both harsh ones and rich ones,
Of dialect, I'm sure, we have no dearth.
O'Brien's wife will say, "Begob, Oi own this day,
Oi'm sorry for the sowl comes near the loine;
Shure I'll break the haythens back that dhares make thrick or thrack,
To hang out on a day that Oi call moine."
Then Greek and Pole and German, and Swiss And Dane and Norman,
All talk at once to choke off Missus Pat;
The old maid in the garret brings out, her talking parrot,
Who raises cain on washday in our flat,
Alone comes Fraulein Schneider; she says, "Mein Gott, I'll fight her,
I'll show de Irisher youst vas is vas."
And then a colored lady, with complexion quite shady,
Says, "Look, yeah chile, I'se gwine to hang dis wash."
A Chinaman creaps in and says. "I hange upe shlirt,
You woma' go insida, baby mind."
Italia' here chips in, "You vor-a nica gala,
But then I hanga clotha ona line."
Just lay back and hear the chatter, the clitter and the clatter,
With ev'ry one a-talking through their hat;
They cuss in ev'ry fashion that man could e'er imagine,
But they're ladies all on washday in our flat.