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In the slaughterhouse, too, Profits take a dive,
Down go the prices,
‘cause the money moves on.
In the hot-water pool, The lifesaver freezes, Subscribers and shareholders Are leaving him dry.
Servants and valets
Feel it in their pockets
That the numbers dwindle
And the income shrinks.
Only one is full of cheer, And that’s the Major here, And Mr Schneider knows
There’s little to be had for the gold.Yes, the crowd from Singapore
Looked quite a bit exotic
When they came like millionaires
From the bloody tropic.
And yet with shovel and pickaxe
We saw them fell the trees,
And when strike action was taken
Not even lack of food shrank them.
All went along with everything, Nobody fought over work, Choral pride and football tricks Kept them moving along.
Four months to the day
They have endured this bliss.
But now Singapore’s had it,
It’s curtains down, a farewell kiss.
But the Major’s hospitality
Is not over yet.
Like a magnet his fame
Clings to the books of war.
He’s attracted so many,
And so many he stripped,
Once we had money and bags full of stuff,
Now we are naked and it’s no bluff.
We leave the generous Hotel Sands
With nothing but empty hands.
But don’t you despair,
there’s something new in the air,
From faraway Ceylon, over the ocean,
The Colombo crowd has been put in motion.