While The Billy BoilsSearchYou needn't think a man's a mouse, because he looks forlorn,'Cause his pants are out at elbows, and his linen's frayed and torn;Because his coat's seen better days, and his waistcoat ain't quite new,And his hat's a ventilating one and lets the air come through.A man is easy sat upon when Fortune's done its worst,And the only asset left him is unliquidated thirst.I'm the shuttle-cock of Fortune, and the boomerang of Fate,I'm a blighted politician, who got plucked for voting straight.
When first I entered parliament I knew a thing or two,I used to trim my flowing sails to every wind that blew;Though I didn't have much learning I possessed some common sense,And could hold my own at sitting on or sliding off a fence.My opinions were elastic, but my principles were sound,For if they caught an adverse wind, they always twisted round.So Fortune smiled upon me, and I proved from day to day,That the politics that wobble are the politics that pay.
One night when party strife was keen, I was an absentee,So when they counted noses they could count on all but me;My vote was worth the fattest prize the Ministry could give,For I could kill the Government or I could let it live.The party whip soon found me out and I remarked that IWas conscientiously inclined to let the Government die.Said he “What price your conscience?” Then I whispered in his ear,And the party when I took my seat received me with a cheer.
Alas! for fickle Fortune that will sometimes kick the beam,While members droned I slumbered, and I dreamt a blissful dream.The division bell awoke me; then I started from my doze,And cast the vote among the “Ayes,” I'd promised to the “Noes.”I discovered when I rubbed my eyes, and turned to look about,That I'd voted with my conscience, but I'd put the Government out.So a dissolution followed, and I found out when too late,That people thought I'd lost my head, because I voted straight.On polling day I faced the crowd, I argued north and south,But talking's hard when half-hatched eggs keep dropping in one's mouth;I could argue against men but not against bubonic rats,Bits of pumpkin, rotten apples, and resuscitated cats.I could raise my voice with resonance above the surging sea,But a thousand braying asses were a bit too strong for me;So the boys sang “Rule Britannia,” and the men threw up their hats,And when I tried to soothe the crowd, the crowd just shouted “Rats!”
I promised to do anything, to vote just as they chose,But the ancient eggs came faster, then a furious yell arose;My platform swayed, and then gave way, and then I lost my feet,And when I found my head again I found I'd lost my seat.I'm a blighted politician, crushed beneath the wheels of fate,Minus my golden railway pass, because I voted straight.So take heed ye politicians, and this little maxim keep,The most successful wobbler is the man who doesn't sleep.