Our Street
In our street, the main street
Running thro’ the town,
You see a lot of busy folk
Going up and down:
Bag men and basket men,
Men with loads of hay,
Buying things and selling things
And carting things away.
The butcher is a funny man,
He calls me Dandy Dick;
The baker is a cross man,
I think he’s often sick;
The fruiterer’s a nice man,
He gives me apples, too;
The grocer says, “Good morning, boy,
What can I do for you?”
Of all the men in our street
I like the cobbler best,
Tapping, tapping at his last
Without a minute’s rest;
Talking all the time he taps,
Driving in the nails,
Smiling with his old grey eyes -
(Hush)... telling fairy tales.
