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Lyrics

The duchess had manner, for dignity lurks
In the shadows of Debret
But fate threw a spanner smack into the works
Tarnishing her coronet
Three large sons were born to her
But one sad morn to her
There came a premonition of regret
Said the duchess "Well
Something doesn't gel."
Said the duchess. "Well!
Hell!"

Imagine the duchess's feelings
On having hatched out her brood
To find her first son was weak,
though well-mannered, Her second rather stupid
And the third plain rude
Her eldest son, when in trouble, went white
Her second son looked blue and hung his head
But imagine the duchess's feelings
When her youngest son went red!

Lyrics continue below...

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She sent them to Etton, traditional youth
Was theirs whatever else they've got
But nothing could sweeten the bitterest truth
That baby wasn't quite so hot
High life gave no joy to him
The hoi polloi to him
Provided something that his peers did not
Said her grace aghast
"Is it going to last?"
Said her grace aghast
"Blast!"

Imagine the Duchess's feelings
You could have pierced her with swords
When she discovered her youngest, liked Lenin
And sold the Daily Worker near the House of Lords
Her eldest son went to Boodle's and White's
Her second joined the blues his father led
But imagine the Duchess's feelings
When her youngest son went Red

Imagine the duchess's feelings
Her overwhelming despair
To find her third son hobnobbed with the butler
And sang The Internationale in Belgrave square
Her first son's debts bled the family white
Her second son blu'd everything and fled
But imagine the Duchess's feelings
When the apple of the eye went Red
Poor mammy
Her youngest son went red

Writer(s): NOEL COWARD

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