Category Archives: Song Lyrics

Song Lyrics: “She’s Been a Mother to Me”

22 Thursday Aug 2013

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1896
Words by Walter H. Ford
Music by John W. Bratton
 
A poor little maiden, with newspapers laden
Was trying her best not to cry
She counted each penny, she didn’t have many
Then called a policeman near by,
My mother’s in jail, sir, will you take this bail, sir
And tell them she didn’t do wrong.
It’s all a mistake, sir,
And her heart will break, sir,
If I am away from her long.
 
Chorus
She’s been a mother to me,
Good and true,
Kind as no other could be,
All I know,
We’ve one another, you see,
Just we two,
That’s why I love her, I do,
For she’s been a mother to me.
 
 
She isn’t my mother, but there I’ve not other
She found me one day at her door,
She did all she could, sirm to bring me up good, sir
She couldn’t do wrong I am sure,
The judge heard her story, her face shone with glory,
Your mother, may go, my dear child.
And as he dismissed them,
She ran up and kissed him,
Then turned to the court room and smiled.
 
Chorus

Song Lyrics: “The Poor Little Newsgirl”

19 Friday Apr 2013

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This song is a slightly different version of sentimentality towards newsgirls than that shown in “They All Love Maggie Grady.” Maggie’s story has a happy ending, whereas this heroine has more in common with Hans Christian Anderson’s little match girl than Maggie Grady.

“The Poor Little Newsgirl”
1882, by Wm. J. McVey

Only a poor little newsgirl,
With face that is smiling and bright;
Up at the gray of the morning.
And toiling ’till far in the night.
Blithely her papers she’s calling:
The Telegram, Journal, and News,
“Help me, for Mother is dying!
Oh, please buy one, do not refuse!”

Chorus:
Only a poor little newsgirl,
Who wanders all day through the street;
Calling her papers so blithely,
With voice that is pleading and sweet.

Only a poor little newsgirl.
Who wanders along ‘mid the crowd;
Wildly the snowflakes are falling.
And wrapping the streets in a shroud!
Hark to the voice that is pleading:
“My mother is starving at home,
Please buy a paper to help me.
From morning till night do I roam. ”

Chorus

Only a poor little newsgirl,
With face that is pallid and cold!
Clasping her papers so tightly,
When rays of the morning unfold;
Hurries the crowd thro’ the city,
With never a thought of the dead;
Pity the poor little newsgirl,
Who sleeps in her soft icy bed.

Chorus

Song Lyrics: “Den Yer Don’t Get Stuck—See?”

04 Thursday Apr 2013

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I wonder what the story behind this song is. Was it commissioned by Albert Pulitzer? (Albert was Joseph’s younger brother, and founded the New York Morning Journal in 1882.) If not, it certainly is some wonderful propaganda, full of sentimentality: A young newsboy can’t sell all of his papers until he follows advice to sell only the New York Journal.

“Den Yer Don’t Get Stuck—See?”
Words And Music by Alb. H. Fitz, 1886.

Two little “New York” news-boys, one six, the other eight,
Stood on a Broadway corner, into the night so late,
Jimmie, the younger brother, dirty, tattered and torn,
Sat on the curb-stone, crying, down-cast and forlorn,
“What’s de matter, now, Chimmie? Why, don’t yer go home to bed?”
“l’s afraid to go home, Pa’ll lick me if I doesn’t sell out.” he said.
“Oh, no he won’t,” said the brother. “Listen now, Kid, to me,
To-morrer yer sells Journals, and yer don’t git stuck den—see?”

Chorus:
“Never mind now, Chimmie; dare, Kid, don’t yer cry;
I’s sold enough for both, so we’ll go home by and by.
Now, here’s a sandwich for yer, come along wid me,
To-morrer yer sells Journals, and yer don’t git stuck den—see?”

Next morning, up bright and early, Jimmie was there on his stand,
Shouting much louder than ever, nothing but Journal on hand,
By seven he’d sold all but twenty, things were coming his way;
By ten he’d sold every paper: “That’ll do,” said he, “for to-day.”
But while he counted his pennies, a poor little fellow stood by,
Regretting his loss of the morning, and almost ready to cry.
“You say you’s got stuck, eh,” says Jimmie; “listen now, Kid, to me,
To-morrer yer sells Journals, And yer don’t git stuck den—see?”

Chorus:
“Never mind,” says Jimmie; “dere, Kid, don’t yer cry,
I’s made big ‘dough’ to-day, so I’ll help yer out if yer shy;
Come over to de wagon, you can eat on me.
But to-morrer yer sells Journals, and yer don’t git stuck den—see?”

Song Lyrics: “They All Love Maggie Grady”

25 Monday Feb 2013

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We know that female newsies existed, thanks to the photography of Alice Austin & Lewis Hines and the newspaper reporters who mentioned the various newswomen who sold during the strike (including the perennial favorite, “Annie of the Sun” Keeler). But how about the general public of the day? Well, just like many other aspects of newsboys & street urchins in pop culture, then as now, newsgirls were romanticized.

The following waltz was written in 1896, and performed by the Newboys’ Quintet. (The Newsboys Quintet, an act formed in 1896 by vaudeville agent James Hyde, boasted Gus Edwards—who discovered the Marx Brothers; was a founding member of ASCAP; and wrote popular songs & Broadway musicals—as a member.) Doesn’t it read just like a piece of “Newsies” fan fiction?

They all love Maggie Grady / w... Digital ID: 1166094. New York Public Library

“They All Love Maggie Grady”
Lyrics by Ed Gardenier & Music by Willim Slafer
1896

Just down there by the ferry, ‘mongst news boys gay and merry,
You’ll often meet a maiden fair and bright.
Who helps support her mother and little baby brother
By selling daily papers morn and night.
So happy once were they, ’till dear dad passed away
Then at the ferry Maggie took her stand.
The boys her story know it, their sympathy they show it,
By giving little Mag a helping hand.

Chorus
For they all love Maggie Grady,
She’s a perfect little lady
They feel entranced to catch a glance from little Maggie’s eye.
Yes all the lads respect her, they honor and protect her
So tip your hats like ‘ristocrats when Maggie passes by.

When she’s stuck on her papers, the lads all stop their capers,
They know she must be home at nine o’clock.
Then soon you’ll hear them yelling her papers quickly selling
They soon get rid of Maggie’s over stock.
Just to see her home at night, two rivals often fight,
The little maid to stop the jealous brawl
Talks to them like a mother, their anger tries to smother,
Saying lads you ought to know I love you all.