© 1997 Earl Vickers
2) The story of this merchant, the truth to you I’ll tell 3) Izzy was a Swedish girl, dark eyes and long black hair 4) They had a lovely daughter, except she was a man 5) Sweet Annie died at birth but soon her illness came and went 6) Of all the convent flowers, Annie was the rose 7) The nuns were in a frenzy, they gathered one by one 8) The sisters gathered ‘round, they were under Annie’s spell 9) Their eyes began to water, out of sadness, I suppose 10) Annie toured the nunnaries for fortune and for fame 11) Sweet Annie perished in the fire, her smoke killed all the rest 12) The moral of this story, the moral of this tale
1) There was a Spanish merchant
except that he was French
Nothing to sell but the smell of his own stench
Full of sweat and cigarette, his clothing he would drench
He bottled this perfume, ’twas enough to make you spench
He lived his life in Lisbon but in London he did dwell
He met a fair young maiden who had no sense of smell
The day that she turned 81 he married Isabel
Everywhere that Izzy went, the merchant followed there
They peddled his perfume, though repeated sales were rare
Their house it had no cupboard, and the cupboard it was bare
Izzy called her Harry, for to match her face and hands
But the Spanish merchant, he had a master plan
to sell his smelly perfume, and so he named her Anne
She grew up tall and handsome, but she had her father’s scent
No matter how Sweet Annie tried, she could not find a gent
She checked into a nunnery which had a room for rent
Long and tall and prickly and fragrant to the nose
A painter, sister Mary Ellen, asked if Anne would pose
She fell into her canvas when Annie dropped her clothes
They could scarce believe their eyes or nostrils, either one
They called up Isabel and said, “Your daughter is a son”
Izzy said, “Oh is he?” “Yes he is,” replied the nun
“Time has come,” Sweet Annie said, “for me to say farewell.
But so you won’t forget me, I offer for to sell
A Flask of Spanish Perfume and some ancient socks as well”
The Flask of Spanish Perfume, they rapidly did close
They paid Sweet Annie dearly to take her scent and go
So it might linger always in their hearts, if not their nose
One day they caught her smoking, “You reek,” the nun exclaimed
Sister grabbed the Flask of Spanish Perfume and she aimed
The perfume it exploded, the convent burst in flames
They bottled up her ashes and buried them out west
“Here lies Sweet Anne of Limburgh,” her tombstone did attest
“Her odor reached high heaven, May her soul be likewise blessed”
The reason I have told you all about Miss Anne Chanel
A man should never tell a lie when there’s a truth to tell
A lie is but a cheap perfume to cover up a smell