Show your most revolting scar;
People never weary of it.
The more nauseous you are--
More the pity and your profit.

CHORUS And your profit, profit, profit.

Cracked of lip and gapped of tooth,
Apoplectic, maim or mad,
Blind of one eye, blind of both,
Up, the beggars of Bagdad.

CHORUS Up, the beggars of Baghdad.

There is a cellar, I am told,
Where a little lamp is lit,
And that cellar's full of gold,
Sacks and sacks and sacks of it.

CHORUS (Hoarsely)
Sacks and sacks and sacks of it,
Stacks and stacks and stacks of it.
Open eyes and stiffen backs,
There are sacks and sacks and sacks;
And gold for him who lacks of it.

(The HOST lifts his hand. The BEGGARS all fall flat on their faces.
Dance music.)

(Enter right, a BAND of fair, left, a BAND of dusky beauties.)