There was Frank and Pete and Robert, Sidney, Bert and Stan
And the last one was our Mabel passed off as a man
We said that we were singers, comedians and that
But what we were was fraudsters in costumes and a hat
We went down to the shore line, right along the bay
It were not much of a summer, a draughty blustering day
There were cockles, whelks and mussels, and paintings on a stall
And visitors and trippers, and dogs and kids and all
There was men and little children, playing on the rocks.
Ladies in their Sunday best, hats, and scarves, and frocks
It might have gone quite smoothly, everyone was gay
But Sidney lost his memory and Pete forgot to play.
We tried to raise their voices in a jolly song
But the crowd were fairly grumpy and refused to sing along
Mable started crying when they knocked her on her arse
There were boos and jeers and heckling, goodwill had got quite sparse.
We packed up all the instruments, the juggling balls and chairs
And tried to make a getaway up the seawall stairs
The crowd were off in hot pursuit, shouting dreadful things
Followed by some barking dogs and kids from off the swings
They chased us to the station and right up to the train
We said that we had had enough and wouldn’t come again
But, bet your life next summer, sunshine, blow or squall
Frank’ll want another try at outdoor music hall.