Why must you be
 So loathe to use your eyes
 When you stop and stare
 Take a lot more care
 And closely scrutinise

 My fingers, my ankles, my feet
 Ha ha ha ha ha
 How shapely and trim and petite
 Ha ha ha ha ha
 Both accent and inflection show polish to perfection
 Such graces are the traces of our old elite
 Such graces are the traces of our old elite

 I marvel how a man like you
 Could fail to see my blood was blue
 What a gorgeous, ha ha ha
 Situation, ha ha ha
 What a startling, ha ha ha
 Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha
 What a friendly, ha ha ha
 Situation, ha ha ha haaaa aaaa aaa aaaa
 Ahhhh aaahhhhhh
 Marquis, oh, what a wag you are

 Profiles they say
 Give the game away
 When formed with classic grace
 If the head on view
 Isn't much to you
 Then look at me side-face

 What evidence more can there be, ha ha ha ha ha
 I sing at soirees without fee, ha ha ha ha ha ha
 Bestowing my attention
 With lofty condescension
 Such graces are the traces of a pedigree
 Such graces are the traces of a pedigree

 All's one to you, though I'm afraid
 Because you love a parlour maid
 What a friendly, ha ha ha
 Situation, ha ha ha
 What a startling, ha ha ha
 Revelation, ha ha ha ha ha

 What a friendly, ha ha ha
 Situation, ha ha ha haaaa aaaa aaa aaaaa
 Ahhhh aaahhhhhh ahhh aaahhh aahhh
 Ahhhhh aaaaahhhhhh aaaaahhhhhhh
 Ahhhhhaaaaahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh
 Ahhhhhaaaaahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh
 Ahhhhhaaaa
 ahhhhhhaaaaahhhhhhh Ahhhhhhhhhhh
 aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh