George Grossmith Kills It

I have previously linked to a work of genius from 1915 (I was thinking 1908 before, for some undoubtedly persuasive at the time reason), Murders, by George Grossmith (namesake son of the original Ko-Ko in "The Mikado"). Having just now sat down and transcribed the lyrics from the song, I present them herewith. The number is half spoken. The narrator's voice most closely resembles Hans Conried as Snidely Whiplash, in a quiet, reflective moment:

I have a few confessions that I think I ought to make,
And I'll try to make them tenderly, for everybody's sake.
The first, about my laundress, who has left this world of strife;
If you'll listen I will tell you how she came to lose her life:

I murdered her last Tuesday, for I thought it would be best
And never, never more will she tear buttons off my vest
And now I'll get my Sunday shirts and collars in one piece
For I murdered her last Tuesday; 'twas a merciful release.


There used to be an organ man who played along our street,
But now he'll never play again, his heart has ceased to beat.
I sallied forth one evening when the light was getting dim
And I pulled out my revolver and I pointed it at him

I murdered him, that organ man, I don't think I was wrong.
He wasn't wanted in this world, he'd been here far too long.
Was it Saturday, or Friday now? I can't remember which,
But at any rate I murdered him without the slightest hitch.
(Poor fellow!)


A terrible misfortune has befallen our family:
My wife's poor mother has gone off into eternity.
She used to give me lectures, but she won't do that again.
She said my conduct pained her, so I put her out of pain.

'Twas on a summer's morning that the dreadful deed was done.
No fuss or talk about it, just a bullet from a gun.
She never seemed contented, and I thought it time she went,
So I murdered her one morning; it was very kindly meant.


Another notoriety has left this world full speed,
And once again, I take the blame. Was I who did the deed.
It's my caddy I'm referring to, a most obnoxious lad;
If I'd let him live much longer, I'd have soon gone raving mad

So I slew him in a bunker; it was Wednesday of last week.
I approached him with my mashie, and I finished with the cleek
And nevermore my slicing nor my pulling will he guy
For I murdered him in bogey, and he had a lovely lie.


Take me away, Constable. I am quite ready.

[reprinted from my LiveJournal and transplanted here so I can find it more easily when needed]