Sammy Slap, the Bill-Sticker.
I’m Sammy Slap, the bill-sticker, and you must all agree, sirs,
I sticks to business like a trump, and business sticks to me, sirs;
The low folks call me plasterer, but they deserve a banging,
Because, genteelly speaking, why my trade is paper-hanging,
Chorus.—With my paste, paste, paste,
Oh, all the world is puffing,
So I paste, paste, paste.
All ’round about the city now, when anything’s the go, sirs,
You’ll always find me at my post, a sticking up the posters;
I’ve hung Ned Forrest twelve feet high, and did it, sirs, quite easy;
And I’ve been engaged, too, lately, both by Mario and Grisi.
Chorus.—With my paste, &c.
I’m not like some in our trade, they deserve their jackets laced, sirs,
They stick up half their bosses bills, and sells the rest for waste, sirs;
Now honesty’s best policy, with a good name to retire with,
So what I doesn’t use myself—my old girl lights the fire with.
Chorus.—With my paste, &c.
Sometimes I’m jobbing for the church with charitable sermons,
And sometimes for the theatres, the English and the Germans;
To me, of course, no odds it is, so long as I’m a winner—
Whether I sticks up for a saint, or hangs up for a sinner.
Chorus.—With my paste, &c.
There’s Jenny Lind, I’m proud to say—sweet music’s great adorner,
I’ve had the honor of posting her in every hole and corner;
Alboni, too, so nice and plump, I’ve stuck her up that’s certain—
And I’ve plastered Mrs. Mowatt, right on top of Billy Burton.
Chorus.—With my paste, &c.
Well now before I say good-bye, permit me to remind ye,
That round about the city here, you’re always sure to find me;
And if ever you shall have a job—to show how I deserve ye,
About the town, through thick and thin, I’ll brush along to serve ye.
Chorus.—With my paste, &c.