In the little room behind my shop
I refresh myself of an evening with my machine-that-sings.
Two songs has my machine-that-sings:
And these are ‘Hitchy Koo’ and ‘We don’t want to lose you.’
When, in the evening, a friend honours me with a visit,
I engage his ears with the air of ‘Hitchy Koo’;
But when I am afflicted with a visit
From those who fill me with a spirit of no-satisfaction,
I command my machine-that-sings
To render the music of ‘We don’t want to lose you.’
The noise that at this moment greets the ear
Of the elegant visitor to this despicable hovel
Is the incomparable music of ‘Hitchy Koo’;
And the price of this person’s tea, mister,
Is but a paltry six shillings the pound.