When we sit down to dinner,
My giant chum and I,
O'er calipash and calipee
We're both inclined to cry.
For if Progressist fingers
Once dip into our pan,
Aloud, but vainly, we may cry,
Whist! whist! the Bogie Man!
Chorus.—Oh, hush! hush! hush!
Here comes the Bogie Man!