  Strike, strike, strike again, Bump them on the head; Every minute somebody, Falls down dead. Algernons and Berts Washing out their shirts, Babies in the bed Crying for some bread. Gentlemen with brains, Looking for their trains. Strike, strike, strike again, Always on the head; Every minute somebody Drops down dead. WHISPER! In the after afternoons When there comes big starey moons, Often we've heard Micky playing By the window, fairy tunes. But I don't know what he's saying In the after afternoons. |
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