In ancient days there lived a Turk,
A horrid beast within the East,
Who did the Prophet's holy work
as Baba [or "Barber"] of Jerusalem.
He had a daughter sweet and smirk,
complexion fair and dark brown hair,
With naught about her like a Turk
except her name, Kafoozalem.
Cho:
Oh, Kafoozalem, Kafoozalem, Kafoozalem,
Oh, Kafoozalem, the daughter of the Baba.
A youth resided near to she,
his name was Sam, a perfect lamb,
He was of ancient pedigree,
and came from old Methusalem.
He drove a trade and prospered well
in skins of cats and worn-out hats;
And ringing at the Baba's bell,
he saw and loved Kafoozalem.
If Sam had been a Mussulman,
he might have sold the Baba old,
And with a verse of Al Koran,
have managed to bamboozle 'im.
But oh, ah, no, Sam tried to scheme,
pass'd, one night late, the area gate
And crept into the Turk's hareem
to carry off Kafoozalem.
The Baba had begun to smoke,
When slaves rushed in with horrid din:
"Marshallah! Dogs your house have broke!
Come down, my lord, and toozle 'em,"
The Baba wreathed his face in smiles;
Came down the stair and witnessed there
A gentleman in three old tiles,
A-kissing of Kafoozalem.
The pious Baba said no more
Than twenty prayers, but went upstairs
And took a bowstring from a draw'r
And greased it well with goozalum.
The maiden and the youth he took,
And choked them both and little loth,
Together pitched them in the brook
Of Kedron, near Jerusalem.
And still the ancient legend goes:
When day is done in Lebanon
And when the eastern moonlight throws
A shadow on Jerusalem,
Between the wailing of the cats,
A sound there falls from ruined walls;
A ghost is seen with three old hats,
A-kissing of Kafoozalem.