My word, you do seem a miserable lot Why don't you look happy like me? Have you backed a loser, or got indigestion Or have you had gin for your tea? You may have your troubles, but try to be bright There's one consolation you've all got tonight Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia The West End Theatres have gone down a lot They seem to get wusser and wusser Some people believe comic singing is whacked I may get on your nerves and my voice may be cracked But nevertheless you can't alter the fact Things are worse in Russia
One Sunday night I went out for a drink I met a stray dog at the Crown He tore a lump out of my best Sunday trousers Before I'd a chance to sit down I found when he'd gone I'd no seat left at all But I thought as I stood with my back to the wall Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia The wife then came up and went off the deep end To square her, of course, I'd to lush her She cried, "I've no needle or cotton just here" And said, "You must stop there the whole night, I fear You'll get a bad cold, but remember, my dear Things are worse in Russia.
My wife had a mother and she was a cat She seemed to be fond of her too I wasn't. I hated the sight of her dial She ought to have been put in the zoo Whenever I met her or knew she was near I used to sing softly, but so she could hear Things are worse in Russia. They're not much better in Prussia One Saturday night she fell under a bus And as it proceeded to crush her The wheels went right over my ma-in-law The wife, who was near, cried, "They've killed her, Oh lor" I said, "What the Dickens are you crying for Things are worse in Russia."