| Life today is hectic
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| Our world is running away
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| Only the wise can recognize
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| The process of decay
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| Unhappily, all our dialectic
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| Is quite unable to say whether we’re on the beam or not
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| Whether we’ll rise supreme or not
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| Whether this new regime or not
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| Is leading us astray
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| We all have Frigidaires, radios
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| Television and movie shows
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| To shield us from the ultimate abyss
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| We have our daily bread neatly cut
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| Every modern convenience but
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| The question that confronts us all is this:
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| What’s going to happen to the children
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| When there aren’t any more grown-ups?
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| Having been injected with some rather peculiar glands
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| Darling Mum’s gone platinum
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| And dances to all the rumba bands
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| The songs that she sings at twilight
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| Would certainly be the highlight
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| For some of those claques that Elsa Maxwell
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| Takes around in yachts
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| Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye my darlings
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| Mother requires a few more shots
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| Does it amuse the tiny mites
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| To see their parents high as kites?
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| What’s, what’s, what’s going to happen to the tots?
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| Life today’s neurotic, a ceaseless battle we wage;
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| Millions are spent to circumvent
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| The march of middle age
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| The fact that we grab each new narcotic
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| Can only prove in the end
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| Whether our hormones gel or not
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| Whether our cells rebel or not
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| Whether we’re blown to hell or not
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| We’ll all be round the bend
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| From taking Benzedrine, Dexamyl
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| Every possible sleeping pill
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| To knock us out or knock us into shape
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| We all have shots for this, shots for that
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| Shots for making us thin or fat
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| But there’s one problem that we can’t escape
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| What’s going to happen to the children
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| When there aren’t any more grown-ups?
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| Thanks to plastic surgery and uncle’s abrupt demise
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| Dear Aunt Rose has changed her nose
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| But doesn’t appear to realize
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| The pleasures that once were heaven
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| Look silly at sixty-seven
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| And youthful allure you can’t procure
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| In terms of perms and pots
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| So lullaby, lullaby, lullaby my darlings
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| Try not to scratch those large red spots
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| Think of the shock when mummie’s face
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| Is lifted from its proper place
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| What’s, what’s, what’s going to happen to the tots?
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| What’s going to happen to the children
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| When there aren’t any more grown-ups?
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| It’s bizarre when grandmamma, without getting out of breath
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| Starts to jive at eighty-five and frightens the little ones to death
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| The police had to send a squad car
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| When daddy got fried on vodka
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| And tied a tweed coat round mummie’s throat
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| In several sailor’s knots
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| Hushabye, hushabye, hushabye my darlings
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| Try not to fret and wet your cots
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| One day you’ll clench your tiny fists
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| And murder your psychiatrists
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| What’s, what’s, what’s going to happen to the tots? |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song What's Going to Happen to the Tots, artist - Noël Coward. Album song Mad Dogs and Englishmen Go out in the Midday Sun, in the genre Джаз