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Noël Coward
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The Stately Homes Of England
Noel Coward Lord Elderly, Lord Borrowmere Lord Sickert and Lord Camp With every virtue, every grace Ah, what avails the sceptred race
Here you see the four of us And there are so many more of us Eldest sons That must succeed
We know how Caesar conquered Gaul And how to whack a cricket ball Apart from this, our education Lacks co-ordination Though we're young And tentative
And rather rip-representative Scions of a noble breed We are the products of those homes Serene and stately That only lately Seem to have run to seed
The stately homes of England How beautiful they stand To prove the upper classes Have still the upper hand Though the fact that they have to be rebuilt
And frequently mortgaged to the hilt Is inclined to take the gilt Off the gingerbread And certainly damps the fun Of the eldest son But still, we won't be beaten We'll scrimp and scrape and save
The playing fields of Eton Have made us frightfully brave And though if the Van Dycks have to go And we pawn the Bechstein Grand We'll stand By the stately homes of England
Here you see the pick of us You may be heartily sick of us Still, with sense we're all imbued Our homes command extensive views And with assistance from the Jews
We have been able to dispose of Rows and rows and rows of Gainsboroughs and Lawrences Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Some sporting prints of Aunt Florence's Some of which were rather rude
Although we sometimes Flaunt our family conventions Our good intentions Mustn't be misconstrued The stately homes of England We proudly represent
We only keep them up For Americans to rent Though the pipes that supply the bathroom burst And the lavatory makes you fear the worst It was used by Charles I (Quite informally)
And later by George IV On a journey north The state departments keep their Historical renown It's wiser not to sleep there In case they tumble down
But still, if they ever catch on fire Which, with any luck, they might We'll fight For the stately homes of England
The stately homes of England Though rather in the lurch Provide a lot of chances For psychical research There's the ghost Of a crazy younger son
Who murdered in 1351 An extremely rowdy nun Who resented it And people who come to call Meet her in the hall
The baby in the guest wing Who crouches by the grate Was walled up in the west wing In 1428
If anyone spots The Queen of Scots In a hand-embroidered shroud We're proud Of the stately homes of England
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