ken Jim Pubes with his splod so bright,
As he traddles his nadger in the bright moonlight?
He wurdles his posset all through the night,
But he can't turn it off in the morning.
the sound of his groat threw me from my bed,
As he blew up his mooly fit to waken the dead,
Oh the noise of his grunge nearly blew off me head,
And removed all the paint from the awning.
ken Jim Pubes? Now his splod's turned white,
And his nadger's been struck with an awful blight,
And he can't find his posset without a light,
And he can't turn it on in the morning.
his poor old groat, it has sprung a leak,
And the sound of his mooly's reduced to a squeak:
Though he blows and he blows till he's blue in the eek,
We'll no more hear him grunge in the mor-or-or-orning.