  Raid, raid, go away, Dote cub back udtil I say, That wote be for beddy a day. Ad wot's the good of sudlight, dow? When I ab kept id bed, Ad rubbed ad poultised for to cure The cold that's id be head? I've beed out od the kitched lawd, With dothig od be feet, Ad subthig's coffig id be deck Ad all be head's a heat. Tell Bay to dot bake such a doise; Dote rud the cart so hard! For tissudt fair, just wud of us To rud arowd the yard. Ad wed I try to say a tale, Or sig a little sog, The coffig cubs idtoo be deck Ad tickles dredful strog. Ad wed is father cubbig obe? He'd dot be log he said— If this is jist a cold it bust Be awful to be dead! Oh what a log, log day it is! Ibe tired of blocks ad books; I've cowted all the ceilig lides, I've thought of sheep ad chooks. I've drawd a bad's face with a bo, I've drawed a pipe to sboke; Just wed I thought I was asleep I wedt ad thought I woke! WHISPER! Tip-toe, tip-toe, through the house, 'Round the pantry, down the hall. P'raps he's only just a mouse; P'raps he's nuffing real at all. Wot's the good of sudlight dow, Ad wot's the good of raid? Ad wot's the good of eddythig Wed all your head's a paid? Raid, raid go away, Ad dote cub back udtil I say, Ad that wote be for beddy a day. |
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