American Old Time Song Lyrics: 13 The Lively Flea

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 13

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Tune-" The Ivy Green."

Oh! a dainty old chap is the lively flea,
As he creepeth o'er young and old;
His choice food is fat, no lean liketh he,
And he's not very fond of the cold.
You can't be too warm when he finds you in bed,
To pleasure your dainty skin;
Off a nice young kid wot's been veil fed,
Is a very good meal for him.

Creeping vhere no light there be,
A dainty old chap is the lively flea;
Hatching, scratching,
All over your body at night he'll be;
Creeping, hopping,
A dainty old chap is the lively flea.

Spoken-Villain! traitor! I thought thee once my warmest
bosom friend, but now-Ha! thou'rt turned backbiter. I was poor
once, but now I am worth thousands.

Fast he stealeth on, though he hasn't no wings,.
But a stunning good hopper is he;
How sharply he stingeth, how nimbly he springs
From your toe to the top of your knee.
And slyly he hides and cannot be found,
Vhen tormenting to you he behaves;
Then he joyously hops, and crawleth round
The rich spots vhich his appetite craves.-Chorus.

Spoken-Is this a flea I see upon my cheek? Come let me clutch
thee. Ah! now I have thee, villain, and thou shalt die. And yet
I have thee not-oh, horror!

Thou art gone from my gaze,
Oh, now ain't this a treat?
And I seek thee in vain
Twist the pillow and sheet.
Oft the candle I light,
And to catch thee then try;
But my efforts are fruitless,
In fact, all my eye.
In the stillness of night,
When I sought sound to sleep,
Oh. my blood seems to boil,
And my flesh, too, to creep;
For I feel thou art near,
And where'er I may be,
That you, you young wretches,
Are hopping o'er me.

Spoken-Here's another of the enemy! perdition catch thee!
Down, down to h--l, and say I sent thee thither. Oh! no, no, no,
my hand trembles; I cannot do the deed. Go to another, go!

Old bedsteads they burn, and the sacking they rout,
And thousands are crushed, d'ye see?
All kinds of clothing turned inside out,
But you cannot get rid of the flea.
This queer old chap in future nights
Shall fatten upon he or she;
For the stateliest man or woman he bites,
They're all of 'em food for the flea.-Chorus.

(Catches one in hin hand and then exclaims:)-At last thou'rt in
my power. Who art thou? I am thy father's spirit, doomed for
the night to prey upon thy body and nip thee most infernally; and
all day long to lurk within the blankets, where no vile Angers shall
pounce upon me.
Oh, horror! horror! it makes my very hair to stand on end, like
biels that will come in at Christmas time.
Shakespeare .--But, hark! I hear a voice-'tis from the upper
air-ah, listen I

Oh, good man, spare that flea,
That fills thee with alarm;
In youth he sheltered thee,
And him you must not harm.
Spoken-Harm thee, dearest, never! so help me, Jimmy, never!
Oh, no! I will not harm thee,
Dear one, I cannot harm;
Fear not, I will not harm thee,
For, father, I love thee still.

(Deposits the flea inside the breast of his coat and then sings:)
Still so gently o'er me stealing,
Memory will bring back the feeling;
Spite of all my grief revealing.
That I love you, that I fondly love you still;
Still I love you, yes, I love you, yes, I love you,
Yes, I fondly love you still.
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