Heigh-ho!
And when they’ve had enough of crumbs they turn and fly away,
Upward and onward through the smoke, and they see the city grey,
Like a rotten peach that is stuffed with flies on a stifling summer’s day.
Had I but wings I would fly afar,
Where no disgusting cities are.
Heigh-ho!
But the waiter brings the bill of fare and spreads it in front of me,
And pigeon-pie at one-and-four’s the first thing that I see;
Imagine what the effect of this on my young soul must be.