  Oh I’m in love with the janitor’s boy, And the janitor’s boy loves me; He’s going to hunt for a desert isle In our geography. A desert isle with spicy trees Somewhere near Sheepshead Bay; A right nice place, just fit for two Where we can live alway. Oh I’m in love with the janitor’s boy, He’s busy as he can be; And down in the cellar he’s making a raft Out of an old settee. He’ll carry me off, I know that he will, For his hair is exceedingly red; And the only thing that occurs to me Is to dutifully shiver in bed. The day that we sail, I shall leave this brief note, For my parents I hate to annoy: “I have flown away to an isle in the bay With the janitor’s red-haired boy.” |
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