He’s a smart little fellow about ten feet high,
With a monstrous donkey-like head.
He escaped from St. Pancras churchyard I hear,
Not liking the company he had got there,
He stalks out at night just to take the fresh air,
And get a drop for to moisten his clay;
He is not at all quarrelsome you must allow
For the devil a word does he speak,
But when he is tired his Ghostship I vow
In a jiffey he beats a retreat.