THINGS I DON’T LIKE TO SEE.
What a queer set of creatures we are, I declare,
What one person likes, why another can’t bear,
It was always a plan when I went to school,
To like everything good, like the Lord Mayor’s fool.
Some like to look thin, some like to look fat,
Some like to see this, some like to see that,
But, if you’ll be silent, and listen to me,
I’ll just tell you the things that I don’t like to see.
You may call me a quiz, you may call me a pry,
But I cannot bear things that look queer to the eye
If you like to see them, it’s nothing to me,
I tell you there are things I don’t like to see.
Now I don’t like to see little boys with cigars,
They’re better at home with their pas and their mas,
I don’t like to see folks in misery sunk,
And I don’t like to see a teetotaller drunk.
I don’t like to see ugly women use paint,
Nor a grey headed sinner pretend he’s a saint,
Nor a swell, in a dicky* tied over a rag,
Nor a fop with mustachios who’s not worth a mag.
I don’t like to see ladies picking their gums,
Nor a boy at sixteen always sucking his thumbs,
I don’t like to see women drink to excess,
Nor a girl in black stockings and white muslin dress,
I don’t like to see a coat fit like a sack,
Nor a man pinch his belly for the sake of his back,
I don’t like to see a man whopping his moke,
It shows that his brotherly feeling’s a joke.
I don’t like to see frosty weather in May,
Nor a man wear his church-going tile every day,
I don’t like to see people sulk at their meals,
Nor a girl with great taters stuck out at her heels;
I don’t like to see people shooting the moon,**
Nor a chap buttoned up on a hot afternoon,
I don’t like to see peelers drunk on their beat,
Nor young ladies bustles fall off in the street.
I don’t like to see people pay twice for once,
Nor a man about thirty, a thick-headed dunce;
I don’t like to see folks eat more than their whack,
Nor a swell with his hair just a yard down his back,
I don’t like to see yellow wipes round the throat,
Nor a man wipe his nose with the sleeve of his coat,
I don’t like to see a pretty girl pout,
Nor young ladies sending their rags up the spout.
I don’t like to see women drest Fal de ral,
Nor a boy about twelve, sticking up to a gal;
I don’t like to see parsons go to the play,
Nor a swell in white ducks, on a pouring wet day,
Now I don’t like to see sorrowful faces,
And I hope another night, you’ll here take your places,
For I don’t like to see empty streets, I declare,
And I think that my pocket agrees with me there.
* A false shirt-front.
** Leaving a house, or apartments, without paying rent.