COME MESS-MATES PASS THE AHSTRAY ROUND

Come | mess-mates pass the | ashtray round
For | noone can de|ny-o
That the | very last fag must | be stubbed out
By the | first day of Ju|ly-o

	| For tonight we'll | cough and wheeze,
	To|morrow we'll be | smoke free.

In | days of yore ex|plorers bold
Brought | leaves back for the | smoking
At | first it seemed a | curious craze
Said | Queen Bess: Are you | joking?

But | soon the courts and | common streets
With | pipes of clay were | reeking
And | everyman for | his next puff
Was | then forever | seeking.

And | soon the treasury | realised
(It | didn't take a | boffin)
That a | smoker could pay a | fortune in tax
Be|fore he reached his | coffin.

But | then the National | Health was paid
By | everyman's tax|ation
And | smoke-related | costs crept up
To | everyone's vex|ation.

So | now we're taught to | think ahead
And | to cut out our | pleasure
If it | make our, or our | neighbour's, life
Shor|ter by any | measure.

So mess-mates...