Difference between revisions of "Page 45"
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| − | + | Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty | |
| − | + | How he fell with a roll and a rumble | |
| − | + | And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple | |
| − | + | By the butt of the Magazine Wall, | |
| − | + | (Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall, | |
| − | + | Hump, helmet and all? | |
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| + | He was one time our King of the Castle | ||
| + | Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip. | ||
| + | And from Green street he'll be sent by order of His Worship | ||
| + | To the penal jail of Mountjoy | ||
| + | (Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy! | ||
| + | Jail him and joy. | ||
| + | |||
| + | He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us | ||
| + | Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace, | ||
| + | Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week, | ||
| + | Openair love and religion's reform, | ||
| + | (Chorus) And religious reform, | ||
| + | Hideous in form. | ||
| + | |||
| + | Arrah, why, says you, couldn't he manage it? | ||
| + | I'll go bail, my fine dairyman darling, | ||
| + | Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys | ||
| + | All your butter is in your horns. | ||
| + | (Chorus) His butter is in his horns. | ||
| + | Butter his horns! | ||
| + | |||
| + | (Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt | ||
| + | [on ye, | ||
| + | Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns! | ||
| + | |||
| + | <I>Balbaccio, balbuccio!</I>; | ||
| + | We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken- | ||
| + | [pox and china chambers | ||
| + | Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman. | ||
Revision as of 14:03, 14 December 2005
Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty
How he fell with a roll and a rumble
And curled up like Lord Olofa Crumple
By the butt of the Magazine Wall,
(Chorus) Of the Magazine Wall,
Hump, helmet and all?
He was one time our King of the Castle
Now he's kicked about like a rotten old parsnip.
And from Green street he'll be sent by order of His Worship
To the penal jail of Mountjoy
(Chorus) To the jail of Mountjoy!
Jail him and joy.
He was fafafather of all schemes for to bother us
Slow coaches and immaculate contraceptives for the populace,
Mare's milk for the sick, seven dry Sundays a week,
Openair love and religion's reform,
(Chorus) And religious reform,
Hideous in form.
Arrah, why, says you, couldn't he manage it?
I'll go bail, my fine dairyman darling,
Like the bumping bull of the Cassidys
All your butter is in your horns.
(Chorus) His butter is in his horns.
Butter his horns!
(Repeat) Hurrah there, Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt
[on ye,
Rhyme the rann, the king of all ranns!
Balbaccio, balbuccio!;
We had chaw chaw chops, chairs, chewing gum, the chicken-
[pox and china chambers
Universally provided by this soffsoaping salesman.
