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No. 8: A different kind of person altogether

MIDI Symbol MIDI File 27K, [4' 54"]

Punka.
    Now, when a young man says, "I think
      It's time I lost my heart,"
    He ought to look around, I think,
      Before he throws the dart.
    For model wives and true, I think,
Are far between and few, I think,
Though there are odd ones who, I think,
      Supply a long-felt want.
  Not the bilious-headache person who sits moping in a chair,
Nor the Senior-Wrangler-Person with a stubble crop of hair,
Nor the Bloom- of-Ninon-Person whose face won't stand the weather,
But quite another different kind of person altogether.
All.
  Yes, quite another different kind of person altogether.

Beebee.
    And when a maiden says, "I think,
      I'll let him buy the ring,"
    She ought to ask herself, I think,
      "Now, is he quite the thing?"
    For model men and fair, I think,
Are very, very rare, I think,
Yet one may here and there, I think,
      Supply a long-felt want.
  Not the third-class-smoking person who is colouring a clay,
Nor the ten-in-fifty person who plays billiards all the day,
Nor the tea-and-muffin person who will strike you with a feather,
But quite another different kind of person altogether.
All.
  Yes, quite another different kind of person altogether.

Pyjama.
    This maxim will apply, I think,
      To old as well as young;
    And when December woos, I think,
      He ought to guard his tongue.
    For model wives and good, I think,
Are rare in widowhood, I think,
Yet there are some who would, I think,
      Supply a long-felt want.
  Not the breach-of-promise person who salutes each man she sees,
Nor the House of Commons person who wants feminine M.P.'s,
Nor the Hallelujah person whose lungs are made of leather,
But quite another different kind of person altogether.
All.
  Yes, quite another different kind of person altogether.

Chinna.
    The sauce that suits the goose, I think,
      Should suit the gander too;
    And Joan should have a care, I think,
      When Darby comes to woo.
    For model men and old, I think,
Are rare on earth as gold, I think,
Though odd ones, I've been told, I think,
      Supply a long-felt want.
  Not the sluggish-liver person who says just what he feels,
Nor the extra-special person who will read through all his meals,
Nor the atmospheric person who changes with the weather,
But quite another different kind of person altogether.
All.
  Yes, quite another different kind of person altogether.

Punka. Beebee. Pyjama. Chinna.
  Not the bilious-headache person who sits moping in a chair,   Not the third-class-smoking person who is colouring a clay,   Not the breach-of-promise person who salutes each man she sees,   Not the sluggish-liver person who says just what he feels,
  Nor the Senior-Wrangler-Person with a stubble crop of hair,   Nor the ten-in-fifty person who plays billiards all the day,   Nor the House of Commons person who wants feminine M.P.'s,   Nor the extra-special person who will read through all his meals,
  Nor the Bloom-of-Ninon-Person whose face won't stand the weather —   Nor the tea-and-muffin person who will strike you with a feather —   Nor the Hallelujah person whose lungs are made of leather —   Nor the atmospheric person who changes with the weather —

All.
  Yes, quite another different kind of person altogether.

DANCE.

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