American Old Time Song Lyrics: 43 Shall We Ever Be Able To Fly

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 43

Shall We Ever Be Able to Fly?
Copyright, 1894, by Spaulding & Gray.
Words and Music by Edgar Selden.

Have you ever stopped to think what this world would be
If an airship they'd invent to fly across the sea?
Then we'd fear no angry waves, oh, what joy and bliss-
Listen to me, please, for what I want to know is this:

Chorus.
Shall we ever be able, ever be able to fly?
Oh, my, what would you give to sail up to the sky?
No one can bother you there, joys will multiply;
Shall we ever be able, ever be able to fly?

Once a jay from Kokomo, hair like prairie grass,
Came to town And hired a room; that night blew out the gas,
Gas caught fire, blew up the house, jay was raising cain,
And as he went through the roof he shouted this refrain:- Chorus.

Once an "Uncle Tom" troupe played in a "one night stand"­"Topsey," "Eva," two bloodhounds, and also a brass band;
No one came to see the show, "rubes" would not turn out:
Landlord grabbed their trunks for board, while Uncle Tom did shout:-Chorus.

Once a snap-shot, "Kodak" fiend thought be'd make a view
Of a mammoth Durham bull, quite big enough for two;
Then the button quick he pressed, shot up, out of sight.
For that bull had "done the rest," And "snap-shots" bowled with fright.-Cho.

When you're in a barber's chair for a five-cent shave,
Razor goes against the grain and makes you howl and rave;
Then the barber starts his chin, talks with might and main;
When the soap gets down your throat, you hear yourself exclaim:- Chorus.

If you are a married man, fond of style and dash,
Ten to one, when wife's away, you'll spend a pile of cash;
You'll canoodle on the sly, buy the girl a ring;
Presto! Bang! your wife appears, and this is what you sing:- Chorus.

When you take your Sunday girl out with you to eat
At some high-priced restaurant, And give a real swell treat,
Then the waiter shows your bill and demands his pay;
Holy smoke! you've lost your purse, and this is what you say:- Chorus.

When you come home feeling fine, full of rum and stout,
For you've had a red-hot night, And loudly sing and shout:
Then your "Birdie" scoops you in, calls you names as well,
Sends for her mamma to come-and that's the time you yell:- Chorus.