The money

O! It may be you're the mayor's child and even if you're not.
O! I'm going to kiss you anyway, though jail may be my lot.

Money, money, money, money, money.
Shillings and florins, won't you give me.
Wads of pound notes and fivers, who's got it?
It's the cuckold who's lining his pocket.

O! You are a shiny mirror, a glass so pure and clean.
O! In Europe and the Orient, your brightness can be seen.

Money, money...

O! What ditty shall I sing you, my dear, that's to your taste?
O! Since you've an angel's body and such a slender waist.

Money, money...

O! The stairs that you are climbing, let me be climbing too.
O! And every step as we go up, let me be kissing you.

Money, money...