(Anon / Bud Willis ?)
Chorus:
So we never mention Aunt Clara
Her picture is turned to the wall
Though she lives on the French Riviera
Mother says she is dead to us all
She used to sing hymns in the old village choir
She taught the Sunday school class
At playing the church organ she never did tire
But those days are over, alas
She practised the organ most every day
While the minister pumped up and down
Till the minister's wife caught him pumping one day
That's when Aunt Clara left town
They said she would have to work night and day
She'd have to scrub floors for her bread
Inside of a week she discovered a way
Of earning her bread lying in bed
They said to garments of sackcloth she'd sink
Ashes all over her head
But just at the moment it's silk and it's mink
And a diamond tiara instead
They say she has sunk, they say she has fell
From a narrow and virtuous path
But her French formal garden is sunken as well
And so is her pink marble bath
They said that Aunt Clara would come to no good
But the paper last week showed a snap
Of Aunt Clara in Nice with a prince of the blood
And a bishop asleep in her lap
The good things in life always come to the pure
The Sunday school classes all teach
But I wonder when I see a photogravure
Of her eight-bedroomed house on the beach
They said that hell-fire would punish her sin
She would burn for her carryings on
But just at the moment she's toasting her skin
On the beaches of Deauville and Cannes
My poor mother's life has been pious and meek
She drives a second hand Ford
Aunt Clara received for her birthday last week
A Rolls Royce, a Stutz and a Cord
My mother does all the housework alone
She washes our clothes on a board
It strikes me that virtue is not only its own
It's also its only reward
Final chorus:
So we never mention Aunt Clara
But I think that when I grow up tall
I shall head for the French Riviera
And let Mother turn me to the wall
(as sung by Hamish Imlach and Kate Kramer)