[Intro] (Sound of a rowdy pub, glasses clinking, rhythmic clapping) (Upright piano starts a bouncy, ragtime-adjacent melody) Gather 'round, you filth-encrusted peasants! I’ve a tale of science, soot, and a very unfortunate soot-monkey! (Hooray!) [Verse 1] Young Barnaby was a sweep of renown, the finest in all of London town With a brush in his hand and a lung full of grit, he didn't mind the darkness a bit But after a shift in a chimney quite narrow, he felt a strange ache in his bone and his marrow His nether-regions were covered in grime, a soot-caked disaster, a Victorian crime He looked for a salve in a derelict crate, and found a small tin labeled "Doctor Death’s Fate" It said "Pure Phlogiston and Concentrated Tar", he thought "This will fix me, I’ll go very far!" [Pre-Chorus] He applied it with vigor, he applied it with pride (He’s got the devil inside!) But the chemistry of eighteen eighty-four Was about to start a very different kind of war! [Chorus] Oh, he’s the Ghost of Phlogiston, the man with the sparks He’s lighting up Whitechapel after it’s dark! With a sizzle and a pop and a terrible scream His trousers are venting a pressurized steam One shilling and sixpence for a look at the sight Of the man whose appendage is a beacon of light! (A beacon of light!) (He’s burning quite bright!) [Verse 2] The apothecary saw him and fell to his knees, saying "Mercy, young man, put that out if you please!" But Barnaby’s bollocks were glowing like coal, a chemical fire that swallowed his soul The local constabulary thought it a trick, until they saw the smoke rising up from his stick The Queen was informed, she was not amused, to hear that the laws of the heat were abused They chased him through alleys, they chased him through lanes While the phosphorus melted his varicose veins He dove in the Thames just to stifle the flare But he turned the whole river to a pungent despair! [Bridge] (Piano slows down into a minor key, accordion wheezes mournfully) The scientists gathered with calipers out To study the man with the luminous spout "It’s a miracle of physics!" the professors all cried "While his skin is all crispy and blackened and fried!" (Phonetic: Three hundred degrees!) (Phonetic: Five thousand screams!) (A proper medical marvel!) [Guitar Solo] (Acoustic guitar played like a frantic banjo, high energy music hall style) [Verse 3] Now Barnaby haunts every pub in the East, a glow-in-the-dark and combustible beast He doesn’t need candles, he doesn't need gas, he’s got a perpetual flame in his... (Hush now!) His grandkids are ghosts too, with translucent skin Inheriting all of his chemical sin He’s sponsored by matches, he’s featured in news The man with the highly explosive views So if you find ointment in a rusted-out bin Don't put it on places where the skin is quite thin! [Extended Chorus] Oh, he’s the Ghost of Phlogiston, the man with the sparks He’s lighting up Whitechapel after it’s dark! With a sizzle and a pop and a terrible scream His trousers are venting a pressurized steam One shilling and sixpence for a look at the sight Of the man whose appendage is a beacon of light! (He’s a human torch!) (He’s scorched the porch!) [Outro] (Tempo accelerates wildly) So raise up your glasses and drink to the flame! To Barnaby’s balls and his everlasting fame! (Loud tavern cheer) (The sound of a small explosion) (Piano hits a final, discordant low note) Ooh, that’s smarted a bit, innit? Send for the undertaker! [Fade Out] [End]
