Lathered By Dough (1909)
Will you listen for a momentWhilst I tell, with bated breath.
How the barbers played - at football
And got nearly kicked to death ;
They tried hard to beat the bakers,
But they made a smaller score,
And now the Knights of Lather
Don't talk football any more. The men of soap and scissors
Had been training for a week ;
They were fit as hands could make 'em,
They were, finer than a streak !
Under Ford they were all hummers
Fit to fight for fame and glory,
And their praises loud were sounded
By their Secretary, Lorry. They had hunted through the district
To get players for their team ;
They were massive—they were heavy,
And their style was just a dream,
A finer lot of fellows
You could not begin to name,
The only thing against them was-
They didn't win the game ! The Bakers galloped, round them
In a way that made them stare ;
They went right through the Barbers
Like a scissors through the hair.
Down the field the Barbers galloped
With a rattle and a din
Swept lather men before them
Like a barber shaves your chin, Poor old Barbers who were dreaming
Of the dinner they would get ,
When they saw that they were beaten
Grew most anxious and got "wet."
They not only lost their dinner,
But they also lost their hair
When they thought of those fine medals
That they now would never wear. Now the men who trim your whiskers
And who lather up your chin,
When they tuck their towel round you
Will their troubles all begin.
They will tell, with husky voices,
How the Bakers did 'em bad,
And the loss of that great dinner
Drives the poor old Barbers mad ! TURNOVER. Notes From the NSW Newspaper The National Advocate 18 Sep 1909 p. 4.