He puckered a meal-bag under his chin,—
“They’ll take it for ruffles,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn had no shoes at all,
He bought an old pair at a cobbler’s stall,
The uppers were broken and the soles were thin,—
“They’ll do me for dancing,” says Brian O’Linn!
Brian O’Linn had no watch for to wear,
He bought a fine turnip, and scooped it out fair,
He slipped a live cricket right under the skin,—
“They’ll think it is ticking,” says Brian O’Linn!