Moses tells Pharaoh he’s won the Spot Prize.

Oh dear – you’re covered in spots.

In fact, you’ve got lots and lots.

It happens when something rots.

You could die soon.

Your face is a festering boil.

It’s oozing a pustulant oil.

It makes everybody recoil.

You’ll be dead soon!

You’ve got spots on your boils on your chin.

Your body is withered and thin.

You’re a monster. You’re ugly as sin.

You look dead already.

There’s only one thing I can say.

Get down on your knees. Start to pray.

Ask my God to take it away.

And you will live, Pharaoh.

Oh, Baby – Interactive Chorus

You must have been a beautiful baby, Moses;

You must have been a lovely, little lad;

’Cause for three months they hid you from Pharaoh’s men:

Your sister, your brother, your mum and your dad.

Nasty old Pharaoh grew sick of his slaves:

They multiplied like rabbits … to dig their own graves.

Still, these hapless Habiru infested The Land,

Till it felt like one Hebrew for each grain of sand.

“Enough of this fecund and fetid fraternity;

I have workers enough stretching out to eternity.

Send me my soldiers; sharpen their swords;

Time for some action, men. I’m done with words!”

The decree read as follows: ‘People of Egypt,

Courtiers, Commoners, Workers and Whipped:

His Mighty, Munificent, Regal Divinity,

Pharaoh of Pharaohs who will rule to infinity,

Hereby orders the death of Habiru boy babies.

They threaten our health: they bring Nile Scab and Rabies.

The augury spoke of their doom in the liver.

Consequently, they will all be thrown in The River.’

A house-to-house search followed, sad to relate,

With weeping and wailing, bemoaning the fate

Of the boys who went down to the depths with their dummies.

Every family sad: grieving fathers, mourning mummies.

You must have been a beautiful baby, Moses;

You must have been a lovely, little lad;

’Cause for three months they hid you from Pharaoh’s men:

Your sister, your brother, your mum and your dad.

But babies grow bigger, become harder to hide.

And what with the wawling, the parents decide

To trust to God’s mercy and they place him inside

An ark… a basket in the river reeds.

Now, as God would have it, along comes a beauty:

Pharaoh’s own daughter, considered a cutie;

When she spots the water babe, she feels it her duty

To pick him up, cuddle him, provide for his needs.

Seeing this, Big Sister Miriam, handily placed

Slips out from her cache, rash to have graced

The Princess with her best smile, faced

Her with her need for a wet nurse. She could have done worse.

“I know the very woman who could wean him for you.

Just lost her own boy. Milk enough for two.”

The Princess sees that this girl’s plan is what she should do.

“Care for him. I will collect him when he has grown.”

Back in the Moses’ home, much joy and jubilation.

Father Amram gives thanks to God, dances in celebration.

Jochebed, Mum, clings to her little man in consternation.

What was lost, back, on loan: “My baby. My boy. My own.”

You must have been a beautiful baby, Moses;

You must have been a lovely, little lad;

’Cause for three months they hid you from Pharaoh’s men:

Your sister, your brother, your mum and your dad.