Don't
put your daughter on the stage,
Mrs. Worthington,
don't put your daughter on the
stage.
The profession is overcrowded
and the struggle is pretty tough.
And admitting the fact she's
burning to act,
that isn't quite enough.
She has nice hands
to give the wretched girl her due,
but don't you think her bust
is too developed for her age?
I repeat, Mrs. Worthington,
sweet Mrs. Worthington,
don't put your daughter on the stage.
Regarding yours, dear Mrs. Worthington,
of Wednesday the 23rd,
although your baby may be keen
on a stage career,
how can I make it clear
this is not a good idea?
For her to hope, dear Mrs. Worthington,
is on the face of it absurd.
Her personality is not,
in reality, exciting enough,
inviting enough,
for this particular sphere.
Don't put your daughter on the stage,
Mrs. Worthington,
don't put your daughter on the stage.
She's a bit of an ugly duckling,
you must honestly confess,
and the width of her seat
would surely defeat her
chances of success.
It's a loud voice,
and though it's not exactly flat,
she'll need a little more than that
to earn a living wage on my knees,
Mrs. Worthington.
Please, Mrs. Worthington,
don't put your daughter
on the stage.
Don't put your daughter on the stage,
Mrs. Worthington.
Don't put your daughter
on the stage.
Though they said at the
School of Acting
she was lovely as Peer Gynt,
I'm afraid on the whole
an ingénue role
would emphasize her squint.
She's a big girl,
and though her teeth are fairly good,
she's not the type
I ever would be eager to engage.
No more butts,
Mrs. Worthington.
Nuts, Mrs. Worthington,
don't put your daughter on the page!