Lyrics:
Augustus J. McCann,
Is a hen pecked married man,
He's been fighting with his wife
Since his married life began.
One morn at half past three,
While out upon a spree,
A Motor knocked him down and out
And it nearly broke his knee,
The Chauffeur raised Mac's head,
He said, “This man is dead!”
But when he said “We'll take him home.”
McCann jumped up and said:
chorus:
Don't take me home,
Please don't take me home,
Tell me, “What did I do, to you?”
Oo oo oo oo have a little pity,
I'm a poor married man,
In search of peace I roam,
I'm with you in anything you do,
But don't take me home.
McCann made such a fight
That they locked him up that night
Next day he got six months in jail
And he said “Now I'm in right.”
In jail there was no strife,
He never saw his wife,
He said that he'd be happy if
He could stay there all his life,
But after half a year
They said “Get out of here.”
The jailer said “We'll take you home.”
But Mac yelled out in fear:
McCann became so sore
That he ran off to the war
That war was like Vacation Time
After all he'd fought before.
He always led the fray
But he was shot one day;
His comrades saw he couldn't
Walk and they carried him away;
Up on his cot he fell,
The doctor said, “Well, well!
We'll send this man home to his wife.”
Then Mac began to yell:
