“It’s All Right” [song by Charles Thatcher, 1857]

[Editor: This song by Charles Thatcher was published in Thatcher’s Colonial Songster, 1857.]

“It’s All Right.”

New Original Song — Written and Sung by Mr. C. R. Thatcher.
Air — “Speaking Automaton.

What curious expressions are going
The round of the colony now;
And from the slang terms there’s no knowing,
The meaning of folks, I avow.
List to me, for your careful attention,
I respectfully beg to invite;
There’s one in particular I’ll mention,
I mean the expression “all right.”

Chorus — Your attention I beg to invite,
And I’ll prove it quite plain by my song,
That when folks exclaim, “It’s all right,”
Nine times out of ten it’s all wrong.

A friend comes some money to borrow,
You lend it, perhaps, like a flat;
You believe he’ll return it to-morrow,
There’s no fallacy greater than that.
He blows about some speculation,
That will soon make a man of him quite;
And he blinds you with this exclamation,
“I assure you, my boy, it’s all right.”
Your attention I beg, &c.

The loafer who ne’er soils his fingers,
And of gold who won’t work for an ounce;
You’ll find in hotels often lingers,
And orders a glass on the bounce.
And his tumbler with brandy half filling,
He’ll drink and commence then to skite;
And replies, when he’s asked for the shilling,
“Stick it up, you know me, it’s all right.”
Then attention I beg, &c.

There was never a greater delusion,
Than giving high prices for land;
And hundreds, unto their confusion,
Have lost money hand over hand.
The auctioneer gives champagne lunches,
’Tis a bait at which greenhorns will bite;
And the victim imbibes, and he munches,
And like a fool thinks it’s all right.
Then attention I beg, &c.

If you’re dragged into some litigation,
To a lawyer you go with your case;
He’s too knowing to use an evasion,
But tells you a lie to your face.
His bosom thus laying his hand upon,
With law terms he’ll puzzle you quite;
And although you have no leg to stand upon,
Says, “we’re certain to win, it’s all right.”
Then attention I beg, &c.

To a doctor you go if you’re poorly,
Your complaint and its symptoms you tell;
Of course he receives you demurely,
And proceeds then to physic you well.
And should he perceive you’re a ninny,
With long words he’ll put you in a fright;
And as long as you pay him a guinea,
’Twill be sometime before you’re all right.
Then attention I beg, &c.

Many more proofs I might bring before you,
But if you’re at all up to snuff,
It’s needless now further to bore you,
For a word to the wise is enough.
There’s one thing I’d say, in addition,
Ponder well what I’ve sung of to-night;
And look with a deal of suspicion,
On whatever folks say is “all right.”
Then attention I beg, &c.

Charles R. Thatcher. Thatcher’s Colonial Songster, Containing All the Choice Local Songs, Parodies, &c., of the Celebrated Chas. R. Thatcher, Charlwood & Son, Melbourne, 1857, pages 30-31

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