MAID OF PHILLIPOPILIS, THE
She was a beautiful Bulgarian, Oh! such a light and fairy airy ‘un,
Skin as white as marble Parian, Well-bred, fed on food vegetarian.
Now a Bashi Bezouk, a great big hairy ‘un, Oh, such a hulking, skulking scarey ‘un,
Horribly bred, a great vulgarian, Set his heart on the fair Bulgarian.
She lived in Philli-pop-pop-popolis,
Next the Acrop-crop-crop-crop-cropolis,
Had a monop-nop-nop-nop-nopolis
Of all the beaux in the whole metropolis.
Said this terrible Turk, “Don’t tarry, you Must be mine, I mean to marry you;
If you don’t answer quick, I’ll harry you, Off to Turkey I will carry you.:
Said the fair Bulgarian, “Oh, Jigger me, All of you Turks believe in bigamy,
Some of you go as far as trigamy, Others don’t shrink from vile polygamy.”
“If you don’t consent I’ll follow you, And I’m very sure to collar you,
And no matter how much you holler, you Shall be much cut up, I’ll swallow you.”
Now a Bashi Bezouk is not partikeler, At a murder he’s no stickeler,
So when he said he’d cut up and pickle her, Somehow the notion did not tickle her.
“Fill up my pipe,” said he quite merrily, “When I’ve finished smoking, verily,
If you don’t wed me voluntarily, Your position will be perilly.”
Then his big pipe-bowl she did gammon it, Blasting powder she did ram in it,
Dynamite also she did cram in it, Left him no leisure to examine it.
Then a big lucifer match she handed him, Smiling to think how well she’s landed him,
And with a kiss she sugar-candied him, And then to light his pipe commanded him.
He applied the spark ([how very?] absurd of him), Nobody knows what next occurred of him,
She hasn’t seen nor ever heard of him, Nobody else has had a word of him.