Our Street

In our street, the main street

  Running thro' the town,

You see a lot of busy folk

  Going up and down:

Bag men and basket men,

  Men with loads of hay,

Buying things and selling things

  And carting things away.

The butcher is a funny man,

  He calls me Dandy Dick;

The baker is a cross man,

  I think he's often sick;

The fruiterer's a nice man,

  He gives me apples, too;

The grocer says, "Good morning, boy,

  What can I do for you?"

Of all the men in our street

  I like the cobbler best,

Tapping, tapping at his last

  Without a minute's rest;

Talking all the time he taps,

  Driving in the nails,

Smiling with his old grey eyes -

  (Hush)… telling fairy tales.