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"No wonder taxes are high" (sung by Bob Monkhouse)

This is the title of a song performed in a 1958 musical comedy version of Aladdin written especially for US television with a book by S.J. Perelman and music and lyrics by Cole Porter.

There was also a London stage production in 1959 in which a 30 year old Bob Monkhouse played the part of Aladdin. This clip  has him singing the song with co-star Ronald Shiner.


An extract from lyrics follows below:

MAGICIAN:
The Emperor is fond of marble dragons,
So he ordered tons and tons of marble dragons,
His extravagance nobody can deny,
No wonder taxes are high.

In ev'ry room he wants a golden Buddha
And it takes a lot of gold to make a Buddha,
Though to estimate the cost we wouldn't try,

CHORUS:
No wonder taxes are high.

MAGICIAN:
Yet we work, work, work
Till our bones are all cracked,
We don't even have a Workman's Compensation act.

His Majesty delights in throwing parties,
So we have to furnish food for all his parties.
When your monarch is a social butterfly,

CHORUS:
No wonder taxes are high.

MAGICIAN:
Oh me, oh my!
No wonder taxes are high.

His Grace can only sleep on yellow satin,
Ev'ry night he has a change of yellow satin,
Though we want him to enjoy his hushabye,
No wonder taxes are high.

He likes to juggle emeralds and rubies,
So he cornered all the emeralds and rubies,
His collection is a knockout to the eye,

CHORUS:
No wonder taxes are high.

Yet we work, work, work
For a minimum fee,

MAGICIAN:
We don't even get a break to take midmorning tea.

Our master loves to ogle pretty dancers,
He already has a thousand pretty dancers,
But today he commandeered a new supply,

CHORUS:
No wonder taxes are high.
Oh me, oh my!
No wonder taxes are high.

MAGICIAN:
He likes to look at fireworks in the ev'ning,
So we're forced to shoot off fireworks ev'ry ev'ning,
And so many that they clutter up the sky,

CHORUS:
No wonder taxes are high.

MAGICIAN:
He drinks a foreign drink that's known as brandy,
So a caravan arrived and brought him brandy.
It's too bad his royal throat is always dry,

CHORUS:
No wonder taxes are high.

Yet we work, work, work
Till we're covered with grime,

MAGICIAN:
But he wouldn't think of paying us for overtime.

His Highness fairly reeks of heavy perfume
And his concubines adore his heavy perfume.
It's a shame the way they splash it on the guy,
No wonder taxes are high.

CHORUS:
Oh me, oh my!
No wonder taxes are high.


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