He's Gone Where They Don't Play Billiards for JOHN REED TORRES

Описание: (Scroll down for lyrics) A request from our amazing friend and colleague John Reed-Torres! This man's incredible, SUBSCRIBE to him. ‪@ragtimejohn‬ And follow him on Instagram! Buy his CD and his tracks on the streaming platforms. Heck, commission him to write another rag.   / mista.ragtime  
https://open.spotify.com/artist/7b10h...
  / john-reed-torres  
https://music.amazon.co.uk/artists/B0...

A fellow went on a journey from Bath to Pimlico
He wanted to catch the Scotch Express
He had to meet his best girl Bess
But the train didn't stop at the station
And it caused him a lot of pain
So he jumped upon the railway line
And tried to stop the train.

He's gone to where they don't play billiards
Gone where they don't play cards
Gone where they don't give racing tips
Where they don't sell fish and chips
No one ever goes there to see a cricket match
He's gone where there's no train to catch.

A lady once found that her copper had got it's flue stopped up
Her clothes every week it used to spoil
She couldn't bring them to the boil
She said the flue wanted cleaning,
And so one fatal night
Upon the copper fire she placed
A pound of dynamite.

He's gone to where they don't play billiards
Gone where they don't play cards
Gone where they've got no copper sticks
And supply the blue for 'nix'
Sunlight soap not wanted - they've got no wringing machine
She's gone where they've got no clothes to clean.

A fellow once started 'pro-ing', and he got on immense
As soon as on to the stage he ran
The audience rose up like one man
He was singing a comic song
And doing a camp high kick
He'd just reached 'Honey honey'
When somebody threw a brick.

He's gone to where they don't play billiards
Gone where they don't play cards
Gone where there's no Plantation airs
Don't even mention Buller there
There's no comic singer or dashing serios
He's gone where they don't want any 'pros'.

A fellow once made a wager how many eggs he'd eat
They brought him up a couple of trucks
He first ate hens, and then ate ducks
When he'd shifted a couple of thousand
To make things good for trade
He started on a hard-boiled egg
That our old rooster laid.

He's gone to where they don't play billiards
Gone where they don't play cards
Gone to a place far, far away
Where the hens refuse to lay
They've no incubators there
And very little sun
He's gone to where you get your eggs well done.

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