  WHO can tell what Baby thinks? I can, I! Who knows what she means when she crows or blinks? I do, I! She thinks that a picture is good to eat, She does, she! She thinks she should love to swallow her feet. Hah, hah, he! She thinks when I touch the piano-keys, La, si, do! That I make the noise, as I do when I sneeze. Hah, hah, hoh! When I put her fat hand on the key-board shelf, Do, re, mi! She fancies she makes the noise herself. She, sir, she! She thinks she could swallow the lamp entire. Flame, flame, flame! She thinks she should like to cuddle the fire. (Same, same, same!) I wished her a pair of leather shoes— I did, did! Nothing like leather—and riper views. Kid, kid, kid! But whether the wit or the leather comes first, (Post, hoc, hoc!) One thing I know—she will be nursed. Rock, rock, rock! And Baby’s mamma is a beautiful nurse, Joy, joy, joy! She might go farther and fare much worse, With a boy, boy, boy! For though I have studied her wits and ways, Bye-bye-bye! I couldn’t take charge of her, nights and days. Cry, cry, cry! |
|
