Their beer glasses dry
Their beer glasses dry
the sliced washed carrots
Wearing balaclavas and gloves
They sheltered from snow
With bald turtle doves
And dressed french hens
In suspenders and lace
And red rouched necks
Below Open Toed Space
While Dancing A Jig
They turned into tripe
Boiled with spring onions
And smoking a pipe
of best virginia baccy
That wasn't so waccy