No. 7 - Quartette and Chorus - "The Lay of the Merry Ha! Ha!"

Lyrics by Grant Stewart

[Snodgrass:] Some years ago a little bird
As censor posed on men.
[Arabella:] When anything absurd occurred
its laughter sounded then.
[Polly:] With mocking melody 'twas fraught
when ridicule was needed.
[Pickwick:] The echo of its laugh we've caught,
And use it just as he did.
Ah! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Polly:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Snod.:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Arabella:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Pickwick:] And ev'ry pose and peculiarity
Will find it's greeted with hilarity;
[Chorus:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Polly:] That lay is sung to boasters
Who their wond'rous deeds relate.
[Snodgrass:] And people who by boring you
Your feelings irritate.
[Pickwick:] I must say that is great.
[Arabella:] When proud young fathers rave about
their ever-lasting baby,
[Pickwick:] This little song will help you out,
By now you've learned it, may be.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Polly:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Snod.:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Arabella:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Pickwick:] When the laugh's on us
we're loud in abusing it,
But in our turn we're very fond of using it.
[Chorus:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

[Arabella:] The lady with the worn-out voice
Who'll stand for hours and chant,
[Snodgrass:] The kindest of us will rejoice
when she catches cold and can't.
[Polly:] Your sweetheart's little brothers too,
who watch you both like weasels.
[Pickwick:] You sing this song, I know you do,
When they get mumps or measles.
Ah! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Polly:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Snod.:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Arabella:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Pickwick:] In a case like this with unanimity
men throw away their magnanimity.
[Chorus:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

[Polly:] The parvenu who goes abroad,
whom ev'rybody hates,
[Snodgrass:] Who says his father is a lord,
and talks of dukes and mates.
[Pickwick:] And brags of his estates.
[Arabella:] How quickly his pretensions drop
when some one says: "How silly!"
[Pickwick:] Your father keeps a tailor's shop
in Bond Street, Piccadilly.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Polly:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Snod.:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Arabella:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
[Pickwick:] I've always given him the preference,
So call on me when in need of a reference.
[Chorus:] Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.