The Ballad of Billy Kershaw

He was small and baggy-trousered, he was nondescript and shy
But in his breast there burned a sacred flame
For women melted and surrendered when they looked into his eyes
Little Billy Kershaw was the name, by the way
He worked as a country ploughman, so they say

Oh Lothario and Casanova, mighty Don Juan
Those legendary goats of days of yore
Billy was better with his eyes closed, on one leg and with no hands
A trick which he could actually perform, by the way
Spectacular, but dodgy, so they say

He never did it for the profit of it, never for applause
Only the silvery laughter that it caused

There was a difference in that Billy Kershaw never picked the best
The beautiful, the golden ones that most men would
But the ugly ones, the poorest, the despised, the dispossessed
Where else would a hunchback get a cuddle, by the way?
Harelips can kiss, or so they say

And so the shop-girl with the whiskers, or the limping shepherdess
The squinting barmaid, her with the pocky skin
Even the horse-like countess with the teeth and meagre breasts
Which in fact had often harboured Billy's chin, by the way
Haughty but snug, so they say

He never did it for the profit of it, never for applause
Only the common comfort that it caused

Many a poor distracted Catholic, rating Billy over Lourdes
Came smiling down his staircase, all her frenzy gone
And the husband, far from angry, would be chuffed that she was cured
And buy him a pint in the local later on, by the way
Horses for courses, as they say

He responded to the colonel's widow's desperate appeal
In the colonel's house upon the colonel's tiger skin
And in the potter's shop, the potter's wife upon the potter's wheel
Which was steadily continuing to spin, by the way
A right tour de force, so they say

But never ever for the profit of it, never the applause
Only the passing happiness it caused

But soon the news of Billy Kershaw and his life-enhancing powers
Became across the county widely known
And by his cottage gate the coachloads waited patiently for hours
The drivers made a bundle going home, by the way
Their caps were full of silver, so they say

And the village did a roaring trade in teas and souvenirs
In ash trays and the local watercress
Until Billy, disillusioned, simply ups and disappears
Leaving no forwarding address, by the way
Could be anywhere at all, or so they say

But it was not for the profit of it, not for the applause
Only the consolation that it caused

If there should be a sad, neglected, wretched woman in your life
It could well be that Billy's near at hand
Perhaps your auntie or your daughter or your mother or your wife
And when did you last see your grandma, by the way?
No genuine case is ever turned away

He's no rascal, he's no charlatan, no mountebank, no snob
Whoever you are, he'll treat you just the same
He is small and baggy-trousered and he does a tidy job
Little Billy Kershaw is the name, by the way
He worked as a country ploughman, so they say

But never ever for the profit of it, never the applause
Only the common comfort that it caused

If you find that Billy's ballad is extravagant or trite
Offensive, irrelevant or untrue
That may well be, but here's a moral which will make us feel all right
A moral which may well apply to you, by the way
Takes one to know one, as they say

If you're ugly, if you're weak or meek or queer, form a queue
And the rest of us will travel from afar
And systematically we'll do to you what Billy used to do
But more regular and always twice as hard, by the way
Mea culpa, mea culpa, as they used to say