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Titre :	A great big shame
Compositeur(s) et-ou auteur(s) :	Le Brunn, George ; Bateman, Edgar
Interprète(s) :	Anonyme(s) ou interprète(s) non identifié(s)
Genre :	Music-hall
Fichier audio :
Photo(s) :
Support d'enregistrement :	Cylindre
Format :	Lioret n°3 (enregistrement acoustique)
Lieu d'enregistrement :	Paris, France
Marque de fabrique, label :	Lioret
Date de l'enregistrement :	1895-1900
Couleur de la pâte :	Celluloïd blanc
Vitesse (tours/minute) :	104
Matériel employé au transfert :	Archéophone, pointe 78 t sur Ortofon, Elberg MD12 : courbe flat, Cedar X declick, decrackle, dehiss
Date du transfert :	01-06-2010
Commentaires :	Texte du contenu ci-dessous. Henri Lioret n'a jamais eu la maîtrise technique de son propre brevet consacré au moulage et à la duplication des cylindres, c'est pourquoi on ne trouve jamais deux exemplaires de la même session d'enregistrement chez Lioret. Voir à ce propos la thèse d'Henri Chamoux La diffusion de l’enregistrement sonore en France à la Belle Époque, 2015, pages 204 à 214 du pdf. Cette chanson fit en 1895 le succès de Gus Elen, artiste anglais de music-hall.
Texte du contenu :	It's a Great Big Shame by Edgar Bateman I've lost my pal, 'e's the best in all the tahn, But don't you fink 'im dead, beco's 'e ain't. But since 'e's wed 'e 'as 'ad ter 'nuckle dahn. It's e-nuf-ter wax the temper of a saint! 'e's a brewers dray-man, wiv a leg o' mutton fist, An' as strong as a bullick or an 'orse - Yet in 'er 'ands 'e's like a little kid - Oh! I wish as I could get 'im a divorce. CHORUS: It's a great big shame, an' if she belong'd ter me I'd let 'er know who's who. Naggin at a feller wot is six foot free, And her not four foot two! Oh! they 'adn't been married not a month nor more, When underneath her fumb goes Jim - Isn't it a pity as the likes ov 'er Should put upon the likes ov 'im? Now Jim was class - 'e could sing a decent song, And at scrappin' 'e 'ad won some great renown; It took two coppers for to make 'im move along, And annuver six to 'old the feller dahn. But today when I axes would 'e come an' 'ave some beer, To the door-step on tip toe 'e arrives; "I dare-n't," says 'e - "Don't shout, 'cos sh'll 'ear - I've got ter clean the winders an' the knives." CHORUS: On a Sunday morn, wiv a dozen pals or more, 'e'd play at pitch an' toss along the Lea; But now she bullies 'im a scrubbin 'o the floor - Such a change, - well I never did see. Wiv apron on 'im, I twigged 'im on 'is knees - A rubbin' up the old 'arf stone; Wot wiv emptyin' the ashes and a shellin' of the peas, I'm blowed if 'e can call 'is self 'is own! CHORUS