American Old Time Song Lyrics: 27 The Bum With The Terrible Gall

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 27

The Bum with the Terrible Gall.

There's a bum who hangs out in this village,
And sleeps on the floor of saloons;
He's fed on the bird seeds and crackers,
And his business is juggling spittoons;
He's known by all saloon keepers;
As a bum he is worse than them all,
For he's swept out in the morn with the rubbish,
That bum with the terrible gall.

Chorus.
Then the people all say what a hoosier-
Oh, what a snoozer, what a bruiser;
If he borrows your coat, you're the loser,
That bum with the terrible gall.

He's got eyes in his head like a mackerel,
His neck is as long as a crane's;
He can feed on the grub made of sawdust,
Mixed up with the seven days' rain;
His clothes wouldn't cover a hair-pin-
Oh, shoot him with a big cannon ball;
You may bet he'll never take a tumble,
That bum with the terrible gall.-Chorus.

His relations they are all in the poor-house-
As many as a big circus troop;
They are fed on the wind of a bellows,
Mixed into a pulverized soup;
You may set him afloat on the ocean,
With steamers And icebergs and all;
You can bet that he'll catch the suckers,
That bum with the terrible gall.-Chorus.