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She knows I'm a deserter from the Scottish Fusiliers,
She knows I stole a blind-man's can...that got me seven years!
She knows I've been connected with a gang of West-End Pests,
And the police have had me twice inside the cage;
And she knows I mix with ladies that have got a shady past,
But my mother doesn't know I'm on the stage.

And you can't part a boy from his father,
You can't part a boy from his dad,
You can't part a Scotchman from money
No matter how many he's had.
You can't part the skin of a sausage
Or a dad from his fond son and heir,
And you can't part the hair on a bald-headed man
For there'll be no parting there.

Remember what the Patriarch King Solomon
Told his harem on the night they'd had a few:
"Teetotalum overcoatum asqua scutum atomack
Sonata with tomoto, laringitis, cul de sac."
Translation: "If your rhubarb's fallen try and bend it back."
That's a motto for the likes of me and you.