A music hall song from 1908.
Words and music by Benjamin Hapgood Burt.
Sheet music provided by Nicholas Leunissen:
Accompaniment by James Pitt-Payne:
Lyrics
- When Percy Wilson Gay left wifie ev’ry day
She always used to say, “Be home in time
Don’t keep me waiting, dear, when dinner time is near
Be here when we sit down to dine”
He’d promise that he would, and swear that he’d be good
But Percy never could quite settle down
For when his work was thro’, he’d meet a friend or two
And then he’d stroll around the town
He would ring her up ‘most ev’ry night at home
And he’d sing to her across the telephone
Chorus
“Hang out the front-door key, love
Hang out the front-door key
Don’t you sit up for me, love
I may be out till three
I’m with some poor sick friends, dear
Who’d do the same for me
Just leave a light in the hall tonight
And hang out the front-door key”
- One night when he got home, he found himself alone
Wifie had up and flown, he knew not where
Although it served him right, he had an awful fright
To think he shouldn’t find her there
She rang him up at three and said, “Yes, dear, it’s me
How does it seem to be home all alone?
I’m with some friends of mine, having so good a time
I don’t know just when I’ll be home
On the table you will find a little note”
Percy opened it, and this is what she wrote
Chorus
“Hang out the front-door key, love
Hang out the front-door key
You wait a while for me, love
Quite fair it seems to be
I’m with some poor sick friends, dear
Who think a lot of me
What’s good for you’s good for your wife, too
So hang out the front-door key”
- Now Percy stays at home, he wouldn’t dare to roam
He leaves the boys alone when work is thro’
Straight home you’ll see him tear to see if wifie’s there
When he goes out, he takes her too
Now all the sporting’s done by Percy’s younger son
He’s never home till one, two, three, or four
He makes the poor old man look like an “also ran”
Since Percy junior’s had the floor
When he calls up father ev’ry night at home
This is what he sings across the telephone
Chorus
“Hang out the front-door key, dad
Hang out the front-door key
I won’t be home till three, dad
Don’t you sit up for me
I’m with some poor sick friends, dad
Just like you used to be
No one can blame if I play your game
So hang out the front-door key”
Sung here by Vancha March: