Get out, get in, get up, get round -
All the world's a stage!
He said it then, and he was right,
Writ large on every page.
All the world's a stage, my friends, you
Know this over all, so
Get out, get in, get up, get round -
It's time for curtain call!
The curtain is up, we're rarin' to go,
They're standing in the aisles.
What can we say at the start of the show
Up here's a land of smiles!
Life is such a marvellous thing-
We never know what tomorrow might bring,
So whether you're pauper, a poet or a king
Come, join us as we sing:
Come out, come in, come up, come round -
Come to Scouting's fair!
For ninety years we've trod the boards
And acted everywhere.
All the world's a stage, we know, where
You can have a ball, so
Come out, come in, come up, come round -
It's time for curtain call!
The curtain is up, the lights are ablaze,
A buzzing fills the air.
Melodies rise as the orchestra plays
And excitement's everywhere.
The curtain is up on our day of days,
We're singing with such might!
Happiness hangs across all of our days
And ev'ry day is op'ning night!
Round and round and round it goes,
Like a bee, a bumblebee, a humble bee.
From flow’r to flow’r love grows
Silently, so stealthily.
Hearts begin to pound, astound -
But not a bee, not any bee, nor any bee
Could he paint love’s…glorious sound.
Is he a flow’r, is he a bee?
Round and round and round it flies,
Like a bee, a lovely bee, a honeybee.
From flow’r to flow’r it…sighs,
In middle C, or is it E?
An elvan bee, an elvan bee –
All hearts aglow, begins to…flow, starts and grows,
But what is it, an…elvan bee?
Nobody…knows, just nobody knows.
Round and round and round we hum,
Not a bee, not…ordin’ry,
From flow’r to flow’r a…drummetty drummy drum,
Thump, drump…stumpingly…cleverly.
Off the ground, without a sound
Not very slow, well hello! By the…sea
Maybe we have…sinn’d, or never found -
Is he a flow’r, or the bee?
Round and round and round I swing,
Is he for me, my elvan bee?
From flow’r to flow’r, I sing.
Is he my destiny?
He and I, bound by a sigh.
Is that all, or do I lie in wait and see?
Can love deny, or say goodbye?
Is my dear elvan bee for me?
Round and round and round it goes,
A flock of bees, quite flighty…honeybees,
Just hopeful beaux, who knows -
Love…eternally?
Round and round and round it goes,
From flow’r to flow’r, higher, higher, bursting free
The lows and highs, the highs and lows -
Sometimes the flow’r, sometimes the bee.
Oh, Fleurs-de-lys,
Oh, Fleurs-de-lys,
Oh, Fleurs-de-lys,
Oh, fleurs, oh fleurs, oh fleurs, Fleurs-de-lys.
This is a story of our Movement
That you’ve got to hear.
It tells of great improvements made
In Scouting every year.
Of how our leaders, hallowed ones,
Take us from civilian strife,
Put us into khaki uniforms
And train us all for life.
I was a boy who loved his life –
Used to have some fun.
I roamed the streets contentedly
With my machine gun.
I’d squeeze the trigger, lovely noise,
The bangs went a-rat-a-tat-tat.
Then Mum made me join a mob of boys,
Each one with a Mounties’ hat!
To our Patrol this innocent lad
Willingly did come.
We undertook to teach the boy
What really makes Scouts hum.
We showed him tests and lots of tricks,
How to make a reef knot slip.
Then last of all we got some sticks
And tried to incinerate Skip!
A Good Turn seemed to be required
So we sat down to think.
We asked our leader for advice
But he’d been driven to drink.
We thought we had a great idea,
One that was happy and gay –
We helped an old lady cross the road –
Eighty times in a single day!
And then one day disaster struck –
Our money quite ran out.
We wracked our brains, oh, what to do?
Our hopes were up the spout.
How could we get to Queensland,
In the casino to play?
A Scout is thrifty and also shifty,
We soon had our holiday pay!
We’ve told you three or four stories,
That you ought to know,
Of dashing deeds and other glories
In our Scouting show.
We learnt our lessons very well,
They’ll help us all our lives.
But right now we’d better hop off home
Or we’ll cop it from our wives!
Scouting’s for the boy,
That’s what the chiefs do say,
And they even let in a girl or two
We hear it day after day.
We’re sure this is most certainly true,
’Cause if it’s not there’ll be a hell of a blue,
The Chief Commissioner would be in a stew,
And what would BP say?
Play this little piece for me,
Your patron of high nobility.
Do it straight away, it’s me that you have to please –
There is no other way.
Try it as a feline cat,
Be a good boy and that will be that.
Black notes and white notes, sharp and flat notes – it’s a breeze.
Princes must hold sway.
Ever in their thrall,
Never deign to beg when they call.
But who has power, who is really the bee’s knees?
Beethoven! I say.
Good old Papa Haydn always counselled me, (Papa Haydn)
It’s not a bed of roses in high born company.
Good old Wolfy Mozart likewise said to me, (Wolfy Mozey)
There always is a hidden fee, in high born company.
The day fades to the West,
Birds wing to their rest.
Sleep creeps up from the East, bringing shadows
Pointing to the new tomorrow
Goodbye, today’s sorrow,
Goodnight, tomorrow.
Rainbows bend above all,
Love hears the call to joy.
Seas crash and break on rocky sandy shores,
Opening doors for life to borrow.
Goodbye, today’s sorrow,
Goodnight, tomorrow.
Good night, the sun is setting,
Dawn is sleeping, the world is weeping.
Twilight, life spun, forgetting.
Good night, the sun sets,
Darkness enshrouds old eyes.
As the heart dies,
As the soul flies,
Everything becomes a dream.
Good night, the sun is setting,
Dawn is sleeping, the world is weeping.
Twilight, life spun, forgetting.
Good night, the sun sets,
Darkness enshrouds old eyes.
As the heart dies,
As the soul flies,
Everything becomes a dream.
I want a cat among the pigeons
A flea in someone's ear,
To engage in a flight of fancy,
Sink some really small beer!
I want to sail across the seas
And plumb the ocean deep;
Do exactly as I please, if you please
And have my beauty sleep!
I want to fight all the good fights
And have an axe to grind,
To know just how many beans make five,
To say, 'How terr’bly kind!'
I want a fair crack of the whip,
Come home on the pig's back;
Go on that fabulous trip -
Of course, on the right track!
I want to burn the candle both ends
And go from bad to worse,
Never 'be there always for my friends' -
Know it all, chapter and verse!
I want to drown the impossible dream
And never have enough,
Ford the deepest bloody stream
And never give a stuff!
’Cos I love a cliche
I love them all the time
I love a lovely cliche
Especially if it can rhyme!
Dream, then, of Australia -
My own Dreaming land,
Of her blue-grey ranges
And sun-hot burning sand.
Dream, then, of Australia,
Our Southern Cross high;
Come with me in my dreamingCome with me, let us fly -
Make those dreams of yours come true
As they surely will.
Dream on, dream for ever,
Here in my Dreamtime land.
Dream, then, of Australia,
My own Dreaming land,
Of dry-rocky rivers
And water ’neath the sand.
Dream, then, of Australia,
So far from sea to sea,
Come with me in my dreaming
Come with me, fly with me -
Make those dreams of yours come true
As they surely will.
Dream on, dream for ever,
Here in my Dreamtime land.
Dream, then, of Australia,
My own Dreaming land,
Of fields big as countries,
And threats from desert sand.
Dream, then, of Australia,
Her reds, browns and green,
Come with me in my dreaming
Fly with me, so serene -
Make those dreams of yours come true
As they surely will.
Dream on, dream for ever,
Here in my Dreamtime land.
Roads leading far beyond tomorrow,
Roads stretching from long ago,
Roads for me to travel
Across the Dreamtime land I know.
Sing a song for Australia,
Sing it loud and strong:
Take us into the future,
Where you and I belong.
Sing a song for Australia,
Make it rise and fall.
Take us into the future:
Take us one and all.
Sing a song for the people,
Colours of ev’ry hue.
Take us into the future -
The ancient and the new.
Sing a song for Australia,
Sing to make us proud.
Take us into the future:
Heads up and unbowed.
Sing a song for the children,
Yindi and Romeo.
Take us into the future –
Where each of them can grow.
Sing a song for Australia,
Sing of sun and sand.
Take us into the future,
To our dreaming land.
Sing a song for our Country,
Land inside the sea.
Take us into the future –
Where Nature holds the key.
Sing a song for Australia,
Sing for you and me,
Take us into the future,
Where we all agree:
Sing your songs for tomorrow,
Sing them far and wide:
Take us into the future –
Where life is magnified.
Sing those songs for Australia,
Sing them night and day.
Take us into the future, when
All of us will say:
Australians (Australians) – we are Australia.
Australians (Australians!) – we are Australia!
Music by Robbie Grech
They’re thrown at us, year after year,
Famines and droughts and crippling fear;
Heartbreaks, illness, the passing of Jo;
All these are there to lay us low. (And)
Down through the ages, near and afar,
It’s never quite clear how fragile we are.
How fragile we are. (But the)
Rains tumble down, the
Rivers still flow;
No matter what’s thrown, we
Bounce back and grow.
How fragile we are, and often alone.
How fragile we are, and nothing to own.
How fragile we are, and trapped in a cage.
How fragile we are, when wrapped in a rage. (But)
The rains tumble down,
The rivers still flow;
No matter what’s thrown
We bounce back and grow.
How fragile we are, though born from the stars.
How fragile we are, while aiming for Mars.
How fragile we are, just dark specks in the night,
How fragile we are, who one day took flight. (And)
The rains tumble down,
The rivers still flow;
No matter what’s thrown
We bounce back and grow.
We’re waiting for a baby,
We wish the stork would come.
Dad’s getting very nervy
When we mention our dear Mum.
We’re waiting for a baby,
A girl or maybe a boy.
Whatever arrives you can bet our lives
Will be changed by the bundleful of joy.
Now all of us are experienced men
In this baby game.
We know the look shining in their eyes –
Every spring it is the same.
They look at us, giggle, wriggle and fuss
Our hair, making a lot of noise.
‘Oh, Johnny dear, lovely news we have for you –
‘Your room will soon have two!’
My dear old Dad was thirty-three
Just the other day.
And I heard him talking to my Mum
In a most peculiar way.
‘Oh woe is me!’ said my father of three
Girls and nine of us little boys.
‘Oh glory be!’ with his head in the oven
‘I only want a dozen!’
In our small house are many kids,
All of whom are boys.
There’s John and Keith, David, Ken and Paul,
Michael, Douglas, Ian, Roy.
And Bruce and Greg, Darryl, Trevor and me,
Then there’s Len to make the lot.
A sister, please, if we have another,
But a boy! Not a boy! Oh, brother!
Each time a new arrival nears
Dad begins to smoke.
He puffs away, ninety to a day,
Blimey, he looks a joke.
When Mum gives astart he’s off like a gun,
Exploding to the car.
He cracks his shin, slips and bangs his head,
While Mum goes back to bed!
Oh, very soon will come the hour
W’ve been waiting for.
In the hospital, with its rotten smell,
Our dads will pace the floor.
A sweet young nurse, smiling like a clown,
To our father happily walks.
‘Oh, Mr Jones, gladsome news I bear –
‘You have another pair!’
The world is ours,
Not theirs.
The world is ours,
Beyond prayers.
It’s the tyrants, it’s the princes,
It’s their glory that makes the wrongs.
It’s the music, it’s the words,
It’s the stories that make the songs.
Why should their creed make us bleed
Blood to flood rivers red?
Why is our need not their need?
Why cannot there be peace instead?
It’s the tyrants, it’s the princes,
It’s their glory that makes the wrongs.
It’s the music, it’s the words,
It’s the stories that makes the songs.
It’s the people of the world
Whose peaceful flag’s to be unfurled.
It’s the music, it’s the words,
It’s the stories that make the songs.
You and I, old friends (old friends),
Strolling down the street.
Stars above speak love (speak love)
To everyone we meet.
Every one is married, everyone is bedded.
Every one is married, everyone is bedded -
Everyone is married - except me.
It’s time for, it’s time for,
It’s time for you to settle down:
It’s time for settling down.
Get me to the church on time (on time)!
A new mount to climb (a new mount to climb).
Settle down, my friend, don’t live alone:
Make a throne for two and settle down.
Marry into money, get a wedding plan,
Forget I’m not a von - just a simple van.
It’s time for, it’s time for, it’s time for you to settle down:
It’s time for settling down.
Women are angels, though homespun.
Angels or a millstone? Just bedroom fun?
No! No! No! Better wooed than wed?
Better the journey than to arrive?
Every one is married, everyone is bedded.
Every one is married, everyone is bedded -
Everyone is married - except me.
must be free from others’ plans and plots
Tying me right up in knots,
Behaving as they think I should -
Definitely not good!
Making me crawl when I want to fly -
But most of all…
I have to be me, to be free to roam
Through my mind’s valleys and hills:
I need to be me, to be free alone
With writing that thrills -
I want to be me, to be free to dream,
But most of all…
I hear the call, I’m in its thrall,
If it’s to be, it’s up to me.
I hear the call, for now and all,
If it is to be, it’s up to me.
I must be free from Fathers’ rage and greed -
Making my poor fingers bleed.
Berating me to the neighbourhood -
Definitely not good!
Making me stall when I want to run -
But most of all…
I hear the call, I’m in its thrall,
If it’s to be, it’s up to me.
I hear the call, to break the wall,
If it is to be, it’s up to me.
I’m LvanB, in ev’ry mood and key.
Aching to make the world my own.
Living to rise to the top of the tree,
To master each note and tone.
I’m Louis van B…
But most of all…
I hear the call, I’m in its thrall,
If it is to be, it’s up to me.
I hear the call, to rise or fall,
If it is to be, it’s up to me.
I hear the call, I’m in its thrall,
If it is to be, it’s up to me.
I hear the call, to rise or fall,
If it is to be, it’s up to me.
It’s up to me.
Music lifts up my heart so
Far beyond desert Mars.
Music gifts from the start, so
Far beyond the stars.
Music plays on my heart strings,
Highs and lows, ups and downs.
Music sprays from my Art’s wings:
Nature’s gorgeous gowns,
Nature’s gorgeous gowns.
Yesterday, when I was young,
Only just begun.
When your life had just begun –
A rising sun, hardly ablaze.
Who could have guessed where it would lead?
Soon to amaze,
Both in word and deed.
Nature’s rainbow gowns,
Nature’s rainbow gowns.
To Vienna,
In Vienna,
Music everywhere you go to play,
Breaking, away.
Nature’s living gowns,
Nature’s living gowns.
Inspiration from – where? – above,
And love, and love, and love, fickle love.
Music lifts up our hearts, so
Far beyond desert Mars.
Music gifts from the start, so
Far beyond the stars.
Music plays on our heart strings,
Highs and lows, ups and downs,
Music sprays from our arts’ wings:
Nature’s gorgeous gowns,
Nature’s gorgeous gowns.
Give me one more glass,Give me one more glass, Mrs Koch.Give me more glass, Mrs Koch.Give me one more glass,Give me one more glass, Mrs Koch.One more glass, Mrs Koch.Just give me one more glassGive me one more glass, Mrs Koch.Give me more glass, Mrs Koch.Dance interlude Fur Elise Give us one more glass, Give us one more glass, Mrs Koch.One more glass, Mrs Koch.Give us one more glass,Give us one more glass, Mrs Koch.One more glass, Mrs Koch.Dance interlude PC5/3 Give me one more glass, Give me one more glass, Mrs Koch.Please, just another glass!One more glass, Mrs Koch.Give me one more glass,(Louis) I hear the callGive me one more glass, Mrs Koch.(Louis) I’m in its thrallPlease, madame, just one more glass,(Louis) I hear the call One more glass, give us one more glass.(Louis) I’m in its thrall Dance interlude Violin ConcertoGive us one more glass, (Louis) I hear the call Give us one more glass, Mrs Koch.(Louis) I’m in its thrall Please, just another glass!(Louis) If it’s to be One more glass, Mrs Koch.(Louis) It’s up to me Give us one more glass,(Louis) I hear the call Give us one more glass, Mrs Koch.(Louis) I’m in its thrall Please, madame, just one more glass,(Louis) But most of all… One more glass, give us one more glass.(Louis) I must be free Dance interlude First of Two Marches in F MajorGive us one more glass, Give us one more glass, Mrs Koch.One more glass, Mrs Koch.Give us one more glass,Give us one more glass, Mrs Koch.One more glass, Mrs Koch.
Not a sound can I hear,
Unless you’re quite near –
And everyone speaks so softly.
Every sound is not clear.
For me, I’m all fear,
As everyone speaks so softly.
I ache and I bend,
I turn from a friend
He doesn’t know he speaks so softly.
He tries to extend
He tries not to offend
But still doesn’t know he speaks softly.
Not a sound can I hear,
Although you’re quite near –
As everyone speaks so softly.
Not a sound can I (you) hear,
Unless you’re (we’re) quite near –
And everyone speaks so softly.
Every sound is not clear.
For me, I’m (you’re) all fear,
As everyone speaks so softly.
I (you) ache and I (you) bend,
I (you) turn from a friend
He doesn’t know he speaks so softly.
He tries to extend
He tries not to offend
But still doesn’t know he speaks softly.
Not a sound can I (you) hear,
Although you’re (we’re) quite near –
As everyone speaks so softly.
So softly. So softly. So soft.
Ever since we've been on Earth,
Spreading across the seas,
We've all wondered about our worth,
Always trying to please.
So often we're filled with unreasonable doubt -
Maybe it's in-bred!
When all that we really have to do is
Listen to what the bard said….
'All the world's a stage' and
It doesn't matter what your age is.
Your life's a waiting book
So fill up all the pages!
Take one day at a time,
But don't forget tomorrow,
There's always a mountain to climb
And sometimes a little bit of sorrow.
If you want to get on
But don't quite know how,
There's always a way to get on your way -
You just have to begin it now!
All the world is waiting -
It doesn't matter who you are,
So get on with your book
And become a star!
We’re waiting for a baby,
We wish the stork would come.
Dad’s getting very nervy
When we mention our dear Mum.
We’re waiting for a baby,
A girl or maybe a boy.
Whatever arrives you can bet our lives
Will be changed by the bundleful of joy.
Now all of us are experienced men
In this baby game.
We know the look shining in their eyes –
Every spring it is the same.
They look at us, giggle, wriggle and fuss
Our hair, making a lot of noise.
‘Oh, Johnny dear, lovely news we have for you –
‘Your room will soon have two!’
My dear old Dad was thirty-three
Just the other day.
And I heard him talking to my Mum
In a most peculiar way.
‘Oh woe is me!’ said my father of three
Girls and nine of us little boys.
‘Oh glory be!’ with his head in the oven
‘I only want a dozen!’
In our small house are many kids,
All of whom are boys.
There’s John and Keith, David, Ken and Paul,
Michael, Douglas, Ian, Roy.
And Bruce and Greg, Darryl, Trevor and me,
Then there’s Len to make the lot.
A sister, please, if we have another,
But a boy! Not a boy! Oh, brother!
Each time a new arrival nears
Dad begins to smoke.
He puffs away, ninety to a day,
Blimey, he looks a joke.
When Mum gives astart he’s off like a gun,
Exploding to the car.
He cracks his shin, slips and bangs his head,
While Mum goes back to bed!
Oh, very soon will come the hour
W’ve been waiting for.
In the hospital, with its rotten smell,
Our dads will pace the floor.
A sweet young nurse, smiling like a clown,
To our father happily walks.
‘Oh, Mr Jones, gladsome news I bear –
‘You have another pair!’
There’s love, love’s there, hope’s there.
It falls, it calls to sing.
Such joy it brings to hearts and souls, but
Beware of love, take care, beware!
There’s love, love’s there, love’s there.
It grows, it slows, it lives.
Pure joy it gives to young and old, but
Beware of love, take care, beware!
There’s hope, love here, love there.
It sighs, it flies, it reigns.
It ties, it chains, from hot to so cold.
Beware of love, take care, beware!
There’s love, love’s there, there, there.
It sings, it wings, it dies.
It brings its prize. It lifts life threefold.
Take care of love, take care, take care!
When I think of my beautiful Bonn I see so many things:Parks and gardens and soaring larks -Even marionettes dancing on strings!
When I think of my beautiful Bonn I hear so many things:Hooves and harness and rain on rooves,And our orchestra plucking on strings.
When I think of my beautiful Bonn I feel so many things:Friends and pleasure, candles both ends,And a perpetual singing of strings.
I see waistcoats and ruffles, and Swords and cocked hats, Satins and truffles,And aristocrats.
And then, season on season,Enlightenment to spare -For no particular reason,Other than, simply, it’s Bonn’s air.
Oh,When I think of my beautiful Bonn Paths on the river side,And horses pulling boats alongIn a whispering seaman’s glide.
It’s a land of smiles aplenty,Of mansions and palacesAnd Louis’ home at Bonngasse 20.
The French have a word for the best of days, A word with considerable allure.Each time they say it, they sing Bonn’s praise,With no practicable cure.It cannot be stopped, or preened or cropped,Or trying to be dour, monsieur. Each time they say it, they sing Bonn’s praise - Bonnjour, m’sieurs, bonnjour.
Let French Champagne Rain on our parade!A Bonny charade To celebrate in style
His enigmatic smile, and the Birthday of Bonn’s favourite son,The not really homespunLouis the vain, butHe’s not much to look at So look at the keys,When his fingers caress themWe say, Yes, please!
He’s Louis to the poor, And Ludwig to the GreatWhen Push comes to shoveCharisimo is fate?
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