The woodry-blee pipes oolie-goo,
While on the brinkers grimes the moo.
God save the King, the soldiers cried,
And then they took a trolley ride.
A rooster crowed upon the hill,
His name was William--she called him Bill.
’Twas bitter cold at Valley Forge,
But nothing ever rattled George.
The berries were growing on the vine,
Three times thirteen is thirty-nine.
* * * * *
Out in the kitchen a maiden fair
Plucked from the hash a golden hair.
* * * * *
Woman’s hair--beautiful hair,
What words of praise I’d utter;
But, oh, how sick it makes me feel
To find it in my butter.
* * * * *