A Mother's Lament
Listen to the song sung by Jack Bruce, Eric Clpton and Ginger Baker.
(From the LP "Disraeli Gears" by Cream)

A mother was bathing her baby one night
The youngest of ten, and a tiny young mite
The mother was poor and the baby was thin
Only a skellington covered with skin
The mother turned round for the soap off the rack
She was but a moment, but when she looked back
Her baby was gawn and in anguish she cried
“Oh where is my baby?” The Angels replied,

Chorus:

“Your baby has gone down the plug-hole
Your baby has gone down the plug
The poor little thing was so skinny and thin
It should have been washed in a jug
Your baby is ever so happy
He won’t need a bath any more
Your baby has gone down the plug-hole
Not lost but gone before.”

The mother was frantic, the baby was gawn
But she had got nine more, and the water still warm
She covered her eye-balls and stuck in a pin
Picked out another one ever so thin
Then into the water she brushed off a tear
When she turned back, she said “crumbs it’s not here”
“Now that one has gawn” and in anguish she cried
“Oh where is my baby?” The Angels replied,

Chorus:

The mother was livid. “How dare you” she cried
“Don’t take no more chances” the Angels replied
“We’ve had your two youngens, we’d like a few more”
Then gave her a nice smile and dissolved through the floor
Now mother was boiling. She smashed in the bath
“You’re not having my kids” she cried with a laugh
Now they’ve not touched no water from that very day
“It’s the smell” Mother says, “That keeps the Angels away.”

Chorus

Down the Road, Away went Polly

Listen to the song, sung by John Forman.
Since first I had a tidy lump of swag,
I've always kept a decent little nag.
But, one as I shall sing about to you now
Was worth a million jimmies in a bag.

I matched against the best that could be found.
Four owners made a stake of sixty pound.
So the race was duly run,
And I'll tell you how I won,
With great Polly, my old pony - world renowned.

Chorus:

Down the road, away went Polly - with a step so jolly
That I knew she'd win.
Down the road, the pace was killing, but the mare was willing
For a lightning spin.
All the rest were licked and might as well as ne'er been born.
Whoa mare! Whoa mare! You've earned your little bit of corn.

Tom Jones, the butcher thought the form untrue.
Says he, "Look here, I'll tell you what I'll do.
"My cob shall trot your mare again next Monday.
And fifty more bright sovereigns I will blew.
If you can prove she'll beat him once again
I'll never more in this world touch a reign".
Though I knew he'd got no chance,
He insisted on the dance.
So now I'll tell you how we slew the slain.

Chorus:

Down the road, along went Polly, with a step so jolly
That I knew she'd win.
Down the road, the pace was killing, but the mare was willing
For a lightning spin
Jones's cob was licked and might as well as ne'er been born.
Whoa mare! Whoa mare! You've earned your little bit of corn.
Well, after that she reached life's final goal.
I'd had that little wonder from foal.
And grief too keen to talk about was mine when
Poor Poll was carted off to fill an 'ole.
Me missus and the kids all went with me,
The last of poor pet pony Poll to see.
And the neighbours shared the grief,
That was felt beyond belief,
When the little mare was buried, R.I.P.

Chorus: (Slowly)

Down the road, away went Polly - not a face looked jolly,
'Twould have seemed a sin.
Down the road, the pace not killing, but the dead mare willing
For the final spin.
Everybody looked so sad, and I felt quite forlorn.
Whoa mare! Whoa mare! You've earned your little bit of corn.