Standing around the corner all the boys would scream and shout,
and the singing cop was chanting to the moon .
With his note book out and in his hand the pencil would be drawn
and then he’d sing that old familar tune .

You better stop this carrying on boys ,
stop this carrying on ,
before the day’s through or you’ll be gone ,
to a quiet little place I know under lock and key ,
where I’ll singing through the bars til the dawn .

“Listen now boys “ he’d say to us ,
“Your names are all in my book”,
but as he’d turn his back to walk away.
Someone would knock his hat off ,
While another would steal the book ,
And the rest of the boys would chant away .

By hook or by crook we’ll win ,
we have wrote the book ,
And you can’t sing when the corner boys are out of tune .
Standing on the corner with a smile upon his face
the singing cop began a crooning
to the moon .

Suddenly we joined in as our heads were in a spin ,
And the songs we sang were ones we made for fun .
The night was one to remember as the moon shone down
on the corner and the party had just begun .

The corner there has gone now
and the cop is seen no more
But his song reminds us where to draw the line ,
Have a heart if you’re a hard nut,
For the long arm of the law ,
Says singing songs to the moon’s not a crime .