Mr. Davidoff, Mr Manilow, Mr Pendleton, gentleman all
An antiquarian and a librarian and a curator were having a ball
Drinking and dancing a bound and around the museum collection in the east wing
Tipsily toppled a delicate vase, cracking the casement of a dead king
Pendleton groaned as Manilow moaned, crossly cosseting the mummified bust
Davidoff sustained a secret erection as the corpse collapsed into dust.

Said Mr Manilow – “Oh what a blow! That Pharaoh’s the only one that we’ve got!”
We can’t bally well jet over to Egypt because all the others have quite gone to pot
Quite irreplaceable. This is disgraceful. Damn! My promotion can be quite forgot!”
Said Mr Pendleton “Calm yourself down man, there’s surely a way we can get out of this spot.
But while they discussed, down the dust, Davidoff sat all the while,
The crumbled corpse was dead of course; quite nice for a necrophile…

Mr Manilow, and Mr Pendleton, took to the streets, gentlemen both
Looking for something dishevelled and crumbly, a crusty old thing they could stick in the booth.
Pendleton said “I know where to go, there’s a dirty old decadent who drinks vermouth
His insides are pickled; his outsides are wrinkled, and though his appearance is rather uncouth,
A small length of bandage should be just the thing,
With a tin of black shoe polish to transmogrify him
Into a crumbly mummified king to replace the one from the museum’s booth!”

Mr Manilow leapt at the thought,
The joy and the rapture of not getting caught,
“Lead on good man, for now I’m less fraught
We’ll see if this tramp can be bought”
Says Pendleton “I’d rather some sport,
A pharaoh is dead, this fellow is not
We’ll make affray and his life we’ll cut short”
Manilow shouts “I cannot!
Pendleton man, you would exhort
Me to murder, I’m sick at the thought”
 “Quell your qualms” the librarian snorts
“How else can a pharaoh be wrought?
But low, we’re here, prepare for onslaught.”

Manilow mumbles a reluctant lament
“So be it I guess, but what a descent
You’ve gone from gentle librarian, to bloody barbarian
Are all book-keepers hell-bent?”

Mr. Pendleton and Mr Manilow, crept to the decadent asleep on the ground
Said Mr Pendleton, “careful old boy, hush yourself man we can’t make a sound”
But fate and drink made Manilow woozey and a boozy foot knocked one bottle down
The others all dominoed <crash> to the ground, the tramp awoke saw them and frowned
And said – “Aaraghs shi, stooopid marangen, fuzzy nugout bazza!”

Sensing their aim to make him a pharaoh the tramp he grabbed his stick and thrashed –

Mr.Manilow and Mr. Pendleton back to the museum sore as could be,
Where they chanced upon Davidoff with his fine trousers off, laying abreast a coffin or three.
Said Mr Pendleton “Don’t put his trousers on, this is a case of seren-dipit-y,
Our gentleman friend is quite round the bend, and you have need of a new mummy.”
“But Davidoff lives” Mr Manilow says, “Are you suggesting we should befoul him?”
“My fine fellow,” Pendleton praised, “I propose we disembowel him:
We’ll pack him with dust to replace the bust – and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind  
He’s a fiend for drink and our friend, just think – We’re mummifying him to be kind.
He’ll die from gout, unless his insides’re out, and you don’t want him branded a freak-
Picture his face, flushed with disgrace when it’s known how he ‘loves’ antiques.”

Mr.Manilow, gentleman true, tries to wake Davidoff with a sharp poke,
But oh lucky days for the museum curator, Davidoff died of a stroke!

Mr.Pendleton taking the lead and Mr Manilow behind just a pace
Set on the task with lively hands, dissecting their friend as if it a race
The exhibit was stuffed, the gentlemen puffed as they heaved Davidoff up into the case
And there he still stands with his crossed hands and a smile on his embalmed bandaged face!

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* Royal Albert Memorial Museum