A Bar on the Piccola Marina

歌詞

As recorded at Las Vegas in June, 1955 spoken: Now I should like to sing you a new song that I wrote only just last year when I was having a holiday on the Island of Capri. Each evening I used to sit on the piazza and watch these hordes of middle-aged ladies ariving by every boat, obviously, all set to have themselves a ball, So startled was I by this rather macabre spectacle, that I wrote this song about a respectable British matron, who discovered in the nick of time that life was for living. I'll sing you a song, it's not very long It's moral may disconcert you Of a mother and wife who for most of her life Was famed for domestic virtue She had two strapping daughters and a rather dull son And a much duller husband who, at sixty-one Elected to retire... ...and later on expire Sing Halleluhua, heigh-nonny-no Heigh-nonny-no, heigh-nonny-no He joined the feathered choir Having laid him to rest by special request In the family mausoleum As his widow repaired to the home they had shared Her heart sang a gay TeDeum And then in the middle of the funeral wake While adding some liquor to the Tipsy Cake She briskly cried "That's done, My life's at last begun" Sing Halleluhah, heigh-nonny-no Heigh-nonny-no, heigh-nonny-no "It's time I had some fun. Today, though hardly a jolly day At least has set me free We'll all have a lovely holiday On the Island of Capri." In a bar on the Piccola Marina Life called to Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster Fate beckoned her and introduced her Into a rather queer, unfamiliar atmosphere She'd just sit there, propping up the bar Beside a fisherman who sang to a guitar When accused of having gone too far She merely cried "Funiculi, just fancy me, funicula" When he bellowed "Que bella Signorina" Sheer ecstasy at once produced a wild shriek From Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster Changing her whole demeanour When both her daughters and her son said "Please come home, Mama" She answered, rather bibulously "Who do you think you are?" Nobody can afford to be so la-di-bloody-da In a bar on the Piccola Marina Every fisherman cried "Viva, viva and que ragazza When she sat on the grand piazza Everybody would rise Every fisherman sighed "Viva, viva, que belle Inglese" Someone even said "Whoops-a-daisy" Which was quite a surprise Each evening, with some light excuse and beaming with goodwill She'd just slip into something loose and totter down the hill To that bar on the Piccola Marina Where love came to Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster Hot flushes of delight suffused her Right round the bend she went, picture her astonishment Day in, day out, she would gad about Because she felt she was no longer on the shelf Night out, night in, knocking back the gin She cried "Hurrah, Funiculi, funicula, funnic-yourself" Just for fun, three young sailors from Messina Bowed low to Mrs. Wentworth-Brewster Said "Scusi", and abruptly goosed her Then there was quite a scene Her family in floods of tears cried "Leave these men, Mama" She said, They,re just high-spirited, like all Italians are" And most of them have a great deal more to offer than Papa In a bar on the Piccola Marina