I've beed out od the kitched lawd,
With dothig od be feet,
Ad subthig's coffig id be deck
Ad all be head's a heat.
Tell Bay to dot bake such a doise;
Dote rud the cart so hard!
For tissudt fair, just wud of us
To rud arowd the yard.
Ad wed I try to say a tale,
Or sig a little sog,
The coffig cubs idtoo be deck
Ad tickles dredful strog.
Ad wed is father cubbig obe?
He'd dot be log he said—
If this is jist a cold it bust
Be awful to be dead!
Oh what a log, log day it is!
Ibe tired of blocks ad books;
I've cowted all the ceilig lides,
I've thought of sheep ad chooks.
I've drawd a bad's face with a bo,
I've drawed a pipe to sboke;
Just wed I thought I was asleep
I wedt ad thought I woke!
WHISPER!
Tip-toe, tip-toe, through the house,
'Round the pantry, down the hall.
P'raps he's only just a mouse;
P'raps he's nuffing real at all.
Wot's the good of sudlight dow,
Ad wot's the good of raid?
Ad wot's the good of eddythig
Wed all your head's a paid?
Raid, raid go away,
Ad dote cub back udtil I say,
Ad that wote be for beddy a day.