Big band singer Nancy Porter was born in 1914 in Terre Haute, Indiana, the daughter of a
patent medicine demonstrator and a church organist, and she found her gift for singing at her
mother's side. Her father, impressed by her talent, had her sing at a meeting of his men's club,
The Ancient and Honorable Order of the Ceremonial Rooster-Bearers, where she was discovered by
fellow member Ben Bagley of Bagley's Big Band fame, who, by her own later
account, "hired me before he'd finished his sandwich." By 1944 she was thirty and had become the
outfit's most requested voice, equally at home with a torch ballad and a novelty number like this
one—which she was fond of introducing, between shows, as "the only song I've ever sung where
the dog gets top billing and I don't mind." She was a dog breeder in her spare time,
being the developer of the Bloodypeke, a cross between a bloodhound and a Pekingese,
surrounding herself with her beloved dogs, which may explain how she remained single after two
failed marriages. Porter retired from performing in 1962 and spent her later years teaching voice in
Sarasota, Florida, where, in 1988, she died of distemper at the age of seventy-four.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.
[Chorus]
Good people talk, as people do,
And swear they know what's false or true.
They praise the just, condemn the wrong,
And swear they've known it all along.
But tales grow tall as they roll on—
And only time tells who is gone.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.
Around from all the neighboring streets
The wondering neighbors ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
[Chorus]
Good people talk, as people do,
And swear they know what's false or true.
They praise the just, condemn the wrong,
And swear they've known it all along.
But tales grow tall as they roll on—
And only time tells who is gone.
Some swore the beast was sent by fate,
Some swore it was a sign;
And each, to prove his point was great,
Told tales of wounds divine.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
[Chorus]
Good people talk, as people do,
And swear they know what's false or true.
They praise the just, condemn the wrong,
And swear they've known it all along.
But tales grow tall as they roll on—
And only time tells what is gone.
[Chorus]
Good people talk, as people do,
And swear they know what's false or true.
They praise the just, condemn the wrong,
And swear they've known it all along.
But tales grow tall as they roll on—
And only time tells what is gone.