The Story of
Gilbert Hendry
by George Albert Leddy

I once knew a guy, his name it was Gilbert;
A nuttier nut than the one they call Filbert.
When he was young, something gave him the notion
He'd fall into wealth if he'd sail o'er the ocean.

So he boarded a streamer one very fine morning,
And bid a farewell to the land he was born in.
Now, he may have been dumb, but there's many that's dumber
For he worked a free passage by aiding the plumber.

But he got here at last and it sure was a pity,
The shape he was in when he reached New York City.
Why, even the statue that guarded the bay
Just stood there and wondered, had nothing to say.

So he started along down the street he was hiking;
He didn't go far, 'twas not to his liking.
He wandered along 'till his belly was sagging,
And some other part, we won't mention, was dragging.

And as nighttime drew near, he was ready to faint
When he met with a feller, a seller of paint.
When the feller saw Gil and the shape he was in:
So desperately weak, so pale and so thin:

His heart it was touched, as 'twould be for a brother,
So he took the lad home to his kindhearted mother.
"O'woorah!" she cried as she paused in her baking,
"I'll tend to the lad, if you're sure he's not faking."

"Acushla!" she cried as she clasped the weak hand
(You see, she's a daughter of Old Ireland).
"Though your forefathers trated us jest loike a pig,
Shure I cenna do such fer me heart is too big."

So she made him a bed that was soft, warm and cozy;
To the downhearted lad things began to look rosy.
But the sun o'er the hilltop, too soon, began peeping;
Then he slipped out of bed, he was tired of sleeping.

So he crept down the stairs and just got to the door,
And there was the good women, sweeping the floor.
"God forgive!" cried she, "'Tis me be a sinner
Should I let the lad lave me without a foine dinner."

So she filled up his stomach with bacon and eggs;
Put new life in his carcass and strength in his legs.
So he went on his way - he was blissful and happy
As a gold-digger baby who's found a new Pappy.

But that seller of paints, he has never forgotten,
'Tho times might be good or times might be rotten;
Through times when 'twas hard to meet his expense,
But a seller of paints he has been every since.

Now the Grand Duke of Windsor, he came to our land;
We greeted and cheered him with flag and with band.
We showed him the honor that's due to a king,
But I'm here to tell you, it don't mean a thing.

But when Gilbert came over, as I understand,
There weren't no flags, no, not even a band;
Not even a Jew's harp, nor fiddle, nor drum.
I guess he was sorry, at first, that he'd come.

Then he got him a job and he felt mighty fine;
Sold wallpaper and paint, and that was his line;
Sandpaper and brushes, and varnish and glue;
And sometimes he'd give away color cards too.

And now he is happy, not a bit does he care
That when he came over no music was there.
For music's no more than a ghost or a spook;
And we have our Gilbert - to hell with the Duke!
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