Twenty Six Bob

My name is is George Barnett, I’m willing to own,
Though I’m not very happy a-hone and a-hone,
For though I’ve wrought hard and stuck tight to the job,
The height of my pension is twenty six bob.

To my country I’m loyal, by day and by night,
If the Russians came over, I’m willing to fight,
Though I’m light in my duds and not very broad,
But how could I be, upon twenty six bob.

The ladies all love me, of that I am sure,
But always keep shy, as they know I am poor,
For who would be willing to take up the job,
Of running a home upon twenty six bob.

So a bachelor am I, and I’m living alone,
And folk think my heart, it has turned to stone,
But I’d rather touch flesh, O, I’d rather by far,
Than lie up too close to a hot water jar.

We have a fine Government, set up of late,
Which might take the notion to alter my fate,
With the purse strings released a bit more that they are,
I would soon bid adieu to the hot water jar.

Then the bags of fine flour might come again to my door,
And the griddle be swung as it oft’ was of yore,
With my teароt all shining and my pipe on the hob,
I could have a fine laugh at that twenty six bob.

But my bread from the baker, I still have to buy,
And meat from the canner be it oily or dry,
And there’s holes in my socks, that’s both big, long and broad,
But what can you do upon twenty bob.

Now there’s stuff on the market, at present I’m told,
Its the latest thing out for the closing of holes,
This stuff it is cheар and does a good job.
But alas! I am living on twenty six bob.