For I will have nothing to do,
But only with Tommy O’Twizzle.
So now, Clump, go stich your leather,
And wax the two odd ends together,
For either in foul or fair weather,
I’ll cuddle with Tommy O’Twizzle.
Each night and each morn I’ll entwine,
As close as the wax to the line,
About and around my own Valentine,
My jewel, my boy, my Tommy O’Twizzle.