Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song A Bar on the Piccola Marina, artist - Noël Coward. Album song Mad Dogs and Englishmen Go out in the Midday Sun, in the genre Джаз
Date of issue: 19.05.2014
Record label: Suburban Squire
Song language: English
A Bar on the Piccola Marina |
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 |