| Eyes clear as dialtone | |
| Are you at home? Are you alone? | |
| I call on the phone | |
| Where have you gone, are you out on the street | |
| Dead on your feet, or harvesting wheat? | |
| My introvert, are you out chasing skirt? | |
| Singing fiddle me rum | |
| Fiddle me dumb | |
| Your lady in her antechamber | |
| Turtledove, my quivertail | |
| My purple head, my nightingale | |
| My corkscrewing fool | |
| Cuckold coxcomb, is it me who's insane | |
| Or is it you who's got sex on the brain? | |
| Always discreet, always obscene | |
| The Viscompte de Lisle is calling me still | |
| Your lady in her antechamber | |
| And time is passing | |
| And you don't call, and my crest falls | |
| So where are you now? | |
| Out with some cow at some Japanese inn | |
| Opening pork cooked in its skin | |
| Pouring red wine like blood down a string | |
| Singing fiddle me rum | |
| Fiddle me dumb | |
| Your lady in her antechamber | |
| Eyes clear as dialtone | |
| Here comes the queen, always discreet | |
| Always obscene | |
| Pushing her luck like the pig who got stuck | |
| Don't think she hasn't got men queuing up | |
| The Marquis of Rochdale's not there for good luck | |
| Singing fiddle me rum | |
| Fiddle me dumb | |
| Your lady in her antechamber |
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