A collection of comic songs written, Compil'd, Etch'd and Engrav'd, by J. Robertson; and sung by him At the theatres Nottingham, Derby, Stamford, Halifax, Chesterfield, and Redford |
 |
What's a Buck without a Tail?
|
 | A collection of comic songs |  |
27
What's a Buck without a Tail?
Ladies, wou'd you see a buck,
Or a rolling kiddy,
A prettier boy you ne'er can know,
To be sure, I'm quite the tippy;
The beaux look back to 62,
With ladies to prevail, sir,
They sported ramalies for queues,
And never wore a tail, sir;
With scarlet small-cloaths, stockings blue,
Cock'd hat cou'd not prevail, sir;
For beaux, like monkey, 'tis most true,
Shou'd always flash a tail, sir.
Tol de radal, lol de radal, lol, &c.
Or a rolling kiddy,
A prettier boy you ne'er can know,
To be sure, I'm quite the tippy;
The beaux look back to 62,
With ladies to prevail, sir,
They sported ramalies for queues,
And never wore a tail, sir;
With scarlet small-cloaths, stockings blue,
Cock'd hat cou'd not prevail, sir;
For beaux, like monkey, 'tis most true,
Shou'd always flash a tail, sir.
Tol de radal, lol de radal, lol, &c.
The year arriv'd of 72,
The head-dress monstrous big was;
With fashions mix'd of old and new,
Their hair like bishop's wig was;
And, take a lady to a ball,
For fear each buck shou'd shock her,
Their hair was puff'd with marechlle,
And to their backs a knocker;
In large hats, then, they'd strut and stare,
The small ones had no sale, sir;
The ladies, too, wore their own hair—
Pray, how do you like my tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
The head-dress monstrous big was;
With fashions mix'd of old and new,
Their hair like bishop's wig was;
And, take a lady to a ball,
For fear each buck shou'd shock her,
Their hair was puff'd with marechlle,
And to their backs a knocker;
In large hats, then, they'd strut and stare,
The small ones had no sale, sir;
The ladies, too, wore their own hair—
Pray, how do you like my tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
Again the various modes did jump—
Long coat hung down so neat, sir;
Or, tuck'd up smartly to my rump,
I jigg'd about the street, sir;
Seven capes to the coat in 92,
Ten waistcoats then the go was;
Two story gig my ponies drew,
What a natty thing a beau was:
Nine yards of ribbon queu'd my hair,
With ladies to prevail, sir;
Let clowns and bumpkins gape and stare,
What's a buck without a tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
Long coat hung down so neat, sir;
Or, tuck'd up smartly to my rump,
I jigg'd about the street, sir;
28
Ten waistcoats then the go was;
Two story gig my ponies drew,
What a natty thing a beau was:
Nine yards of ribbon queu'd my hair,
With ladies to prevail, sir;
Let clowns and bumpkins gape and stare,
What's a buck without a tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
The present mode, observe the mac,
How smart, how gay, how handy;
I'm quite the thing—pray, view my back,
I'm sure I'm now the dandy:
Long breeches, watches, boots, high hat,
Whose crown wou'd hold a peck, sir,
Short waistcoat, coat, thick stick—all that—
And a towel round my neck, sir:
I, in fashion, differ from the fops—
They, with ladies, sure, will fail, sir;
Who cut their hair to make 'em crops—
Pray, how do you like my tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
How smart, how gay, how handy;
I'm quite the thing—pray, view my back,
I'm sure I'm now the dandy:
Long breeches, watches, boots, high hat,
Whose crown wou'd hold a peck, sir,
Short waistcoat, coat, thick stick—all that—
And a towel round my neck, sir:
I, in fashion, differ from the fops—
They, with ladies, sure, will fail, sir;
Who cut their hair to make 'em crops—
Pray, how do you like my tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
In air and dress, no travel'd mac,
Of joint shall put my nose out;
At shrug and grin I've got the knack,
And, see, I turn my toes out:
To flash my gig, then, who but I—
Gee up! my ponies' blood, sir—
That's your sort! the ladies cry,
Their eyes I dab with mud, sir:
A lady whispers to her mate,
That man, what can he ail, sir?
Dear me! look at his powder'd pate!
And twig his monkey tail, sir.
Toll de radal, &c.
Of joint shall put my nose out;
At shrug and grin I've got the knack,
And, see, I turn my toes out:
To flash my gig, then, who but I—
Gee up! my ponies' blood, sir—
That's your sort! the ladies cry,
Their eyes I dab with mud, sir:
A lady whispers to her mate,
That man, what can he ail, sir?
Dear me! look at his powder'd pate!
And twig his monkey tail, sir.
Toll de radal, &c.
29
I'm the lad that leads the way—
I squeeze my chapaubras, sir;
At concerts, balls, the club, the play,
I stare and cock my glass, sir:
To d---n the actors I can see—
In the boxes kick up fun;
Whose that there acting? Is it Manly?
No, you fool—it's Jem Robertson:
Learn hence, ye bucks, that bucks wou'd be,
That crops are now grown stale, sir;
Then, dashing boys, take after me—
What's a buck without a tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
I squeeze my chapaubras, sir;
At concerts, balls, the club, the play,
I stare and cock my glass, sir:
To d---n the actors I can see—
In the boxes kick up fun;
Whose that there acting? Is it Manly?
No, you fool—it's Jem Robertson:
Learn hence, ye bucks, that bucks wou'd be,
That crops are now grown stale, sir;
Then, dashing boys, take after me—
What's a buck without a tail, sir?
Toll de radal, &c.
| A collection of comic songs | |