There is nothing more unaesthetic than a policeman.
quote by Arthur Conan Doyle
Added by Lucian Velea
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Policeman
Everyday he wakes up
As his bare feet hit the floor
Grabs a cup of coffee
Straps his magnum on once more
Feeds the cat he lives with
Since his wife walked out the door
In nine years hell retire with a pension
Everyday he suffers
cause he sees all kinds of pain
Sometimes feels helpless
In a world thats gone insane
Then he wins a battle
It restores his faith again
Its only human kindness he is after
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
He is a policeman, you know
Every night he comes home
With a sixpack all alone
Feeds the cat he lives with
He picks up the telephone
Needs to talk with someone
But the only love hes known
Was lost forever, he is a policeman
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
He is a policeman, you know
All the years and nothing to show
song performed by Chicago
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Thugs In Our House
Cast of characters
Graham, a teenager
Mother, a busy housewife
Father, a conservative husband
Policeman, a young constable
Scene: a kitchen in suburbia, one bright saturday morning
Act one
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. her husband burns his paper, sucks his pipe while studying
Their cushion-floor, his viscous poly-paste breath comes out. their
Wall-paper world is shattered by his shout. a boy in blue is busy
Banging out a headache on the kitchen door. all the while graham
Slept on, dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted
To.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Act two
Narrator: the young policeman who just can't grow a moustache will
Open up his book, and spoil their breakfast with reports of asians who
Have been so badly kicked.
Policeman: is this your son's wallet i've got here? he must have
Dropped it after too much beer!
Mother: oh, officer, we can't believe our little angel is the one
You've picked.
Narrator: and all the while graham slept on, dreaming of a world
Where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Narrator: they never read those pamphlets in his bottom drawer.
Policeman: they never read that tattoo on his arm.
Narrator: they thought that was just a boys club badge he wore.
Policeman: they never thought he'd do folks any harm.
Act three
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. she's singing something stale and simple now this business has
Fizzled out. her little tune is such a happy song. her son is
Innocent, he can't do wrong, 'cos dad's a judge and knows exactly what
The job of judging's all about. and all the while graham slept on,
Dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Mother: no thugs in our house!
Father: no thugs in our house!
Complete cast (in unison): no thugs in our house, dear!
[...] Read more
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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No Thugs In Our House
Cast of characters
Graham, a teenager
Mother, a busy housewife
Father, a conservative husband
Policeman, a young constable
Scene: a kitchen in suburbia, one bright saturday morning
Act one
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. her husband burns his paper, sucks his pipe while studying
Their cushion-floor, his viscous poly-paste breath comes out. their
Wall-paper world is shattered by his shout. a boy in blue is busy
Banging out a headache on the kitchen door. all the while graham
Slept on, dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted
To.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Act two
Narrator: the young policeman who just can't grow a moustache will
Open up his book, and spoil their breakfast with reports of asians who
Have been so badly kicked.
Policeman: is this your son's wallet i've got here? he must have
Dropped it after too much beer!
Mother: oh, officer, we can't believe our little angel is the one
You've picked.
Narrator: and all the while graham slept on, dreaming of a world
Where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Narrator: they never read those pamphlets in his bottom drawer.
Policeman: they never read that tattoo on his arm.
Narrator: they thought that was just a boys club badge he wore.
Policeman: they never thought he'd do folks any harm.
Act three
Narrator: the insect-headed worker-wife will hang her waspies on the
Line. she's singing something stale and simple now this business has
Fizzled out. her little tune is such a happy song. her son is
Innocent, he can't do wrong, 'cos dad's a judge and knows exactly what
The job of judging's all about. and all the while graham slept on,
Dreaming of a world where he could do just what he wanted to.
Mother and father (in unison): no thugs in our house, are there dear?
We made that clear, we made little graham promise us he'd be a good
Boy. no thugs in our house, are there dear? we made that clear, we
Made little graham promise us he'd be a good boy.
Mother: no thugs in our house!
Father: no thugs in our house!
Complete cast (in unison): no thugs in our house, dear!
[...] Read more
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Phrenology
"COME, collar this bad man -
Around the throat he knotted me
Till I to choke began -
In point of fact, garotted me!"
So spake SIR HERBERT WRITE
To JAMES, Policeman Thirty-two -
All ruffled with his fight
SIR HERBERT was, and dirty too.
Policeman nothing said
(Though he had much to say on it),
But from the bad man's head
He took the cap that lay on it.
"No, great SIR HERBERT WHITE -
Impossible to take him up.
This man is honest quite -
Wherever did you rake him up?
"For Burglars, Thieves, and Co.,
Indeed, I'm no apologist,
But I, some years ago,
Assisted a Phrenologist.
"Observe his various bumps,
His head as I uncover it:
His morals lie in lumps
All round about and over it."
"Now take him," said SIR WHITE,
"Or you will soon be rueing it;
Bless me! I must be right, -
I caught the fellow doing it!"
Policeman calmly smiled,
"Indeed you are mistaken, sir,
You're agitated - riled -
And very badly shaken, sir.
"Sit down, and I'll explain
My system of Phrenology,
A second, please, remain" -
(A second is horology).
Policeman left his beat -
(The Bart., no longer furious,
Sat down upon a seat,
Observing, "This is curious!")
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Everyday Faces
Everyday faces that say hello
Everyday faces that come and go
Everyday faces that stay the same
Everyday day after day
There was a day
When all everything changed
People all came
Stood in the rain
They ain't got a cent (they not the same)
Policeman walked in
The statues all waiting (???)
They wanted a change
Everyday face
Was a time all we could do was try
Was a time when we could say goodbye
Now you find you never do a thing (the same)
Does today feel the same way
Cos there was a day
When all had been changed
People all came
Danced in the rain
They ain't got a cent
And a policeman walked in
The statues all wait (??)
All the same
Everyday face
There was a day
When everything changed
The people all came
Danced in the rain
They're in pain
A policeman walked in
All the statues are waiting
They wanted a change
From an everyday face
Now you're looking at me
Like I'm so passe
I'm a disgrace
Just an everyday face
song performed by Travis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Billy's Policeman
I knew a policeman once
And this is true as it ever could be
Who made me feel an awful dunce;
'Cos I lost my dad, and it frightened me.
He came and took me by the hand
'Well, now,' said he; 'young fella-me-lad,
No need to cry, I understand.
You'll soon be back with mummy and dad.'
I knew the big policeman well
Before he'd talked the teeniest while.
Such a lot of things he had to tell;
And he had the cheeriest, merriest smile.
I've got a nipper at home like you
So high, young fella-me-lad,' he said.
And all at once - as true as true
I forgot to cry, and I laughed instead.
And then the big policeman said:
'Ho, that's the stuff for the troops, old son!'
The funniest things came into his head;
And I laughed and laughed at every one.
And when they found my mummy and dad,
And he patted my head and said good-bye.
Somehow or other I felt quite sad;
But I knew he'd be sorry to see me cry.
I know that all policemen now
Are just like that, and it's silly to think
They frown and bully and make a row,
Why, you ought to have seen my merry one wink!
And when I pass where he has his beat,
When I'm out for a walk with mummy and dad,
I wave to my big friend in the street,
'What Ho,' says he, 'young fella-me-lad.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Everything between us is black
A black sleep near to death
surrounds me and everything between you and me,
while police patrol cars
with flashing lights and sirens
are parking outside the yard
and you are at your lover’s house.
They are here to lock handcuffs around my wrists,
send by the lies that you trumpet forth
and when I only allow one policeman
to come into the yard
while your white policeman lover with the others
have to wait outside the yard
the lot of them are raging mad
as I threaten
to take legal action against them
and that one black policeman
finds your drugged out child
where he is sleeping,
learn from him
that they have come in vain
and that you are making arses of them and me,
he searches through the house
and I send the whole lot of them to hell
where they can go and crawl back in
and there’s death
like a deep dark grave,
where at a time
I had love for you
and my memory fades, about our gloomy story
of which now nothing remains
but for the realization
that your departure was my actual salvation
and between us everything is black,
all meaning has been wiped out eternally.
[Reference: Un grand sommeil noir… by Paul Verlaine.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The City of Sleep
Over the edge of the purple down,
Where the single lamplight gleams,
Know ye the road to the Merciful Town
That is hard by the Sea of Dreams--
Where the poor may lay their wrongs away,
And the sick may forget to weep?
But we--pity us! Oh, pity us!
We wakeful; ah, pity us! --
We must go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!
Weary they turn from the scroll and crown,
Fetter and prayer and plough--
They that go up to the Merciful Town,
For her gates are closing now.
It is their right in the Baths of Night
Body and soul to steep,
But we--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!--
We must go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!
Over the edge of the purple down,
Ere the tender dreams begin,
Look--we may look--at the Merciful Town,
But we may not enter in!
Outcasts all, from her guarded wall
Back to our watch we creep:
We--pity us! ah, pity us!
We wakeful; oh, pity us!--
We that go back with Policeman Day--
Back from the City of Sleep!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Censor
The Censor sits behind his desk,
And smiles a censored smile;
His great, blue pencil hovers o'er
Some masterpiece awhile,
Then swoops - oh, child of whose poor ravished brain?
Coldly another innnocent is slain!
The Censor is a murderer.
None knows his secret lair,
Nor all the dark and awful deeds
He does in ambush there.
No eye has seen his charnel-house - it's floor
With literary corpses littered o'er.
The Censor is a crocodile.
Beneath that slimy flood,
The Waters of Oblivion,
He seeks his livelihood.
His gloating eye marks children of my pen;
He draws them under from the sight of men.
The Censor is a nibbling mouse.
The fair cheese of my mind
He rifles till there's nothing left
But atmosphere and rind.
That fair, round cheese, formed lovingly by me,
From milk of thought and curds of poesy.
The Censor is an elephant.
With large, ungainly feet
He dances on the glad, green fields
I sowed in toil and heat,
Till all the fairest flow'rs of thought are slain,
And only unaesthetic weeds remain.
The Censor is the Fiend of Storms.
Upon the Inky Sea,
In fear, my poor, frail craft I launch;
Then, with unholy glee,
He makes the winds tear howling through the shrouds,
And sends fork'd death and shipwreck from the clouds.
The Censor is a sorceror.
Above rare fruits that grow
Upon the tree of genius
His hand waves to and fro.
Hey, Presto! And their lusciousness is slain -
Apples of Sodom, Dead Sea Fruit remain.
The Censor is a hooded snake
That lurks within the grass,
And rears to sink his poison-fangs
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The policeman isn't there to create disorder; the policeman is there to preserve disorder.
quote by Richard J. Daley
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stop Thief!
Policeman, policeman,
Help me please.
Someone went and stole my knees.
I’d chase him down but I suspect
My feet and legs just won’t connect.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Career Changing Incident
The policeman helped
arrest a man and put him
in the squad car.
The man's dog, mad with fear,
ran behind the car, mile after
mile. He was hit at an
intersection. Subsequently
he was healed, but the incident
caused the policeman to resign
from a job which did not allow
him his own conscience.
poem by Saiom Shriver
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Thela Hun Ginjeet
Well, first of all,
I couldnt even see his face.
I couldnt see his face.
He was holding a gun in his hand.
Umm... I was thinking...
This is a dangerous place..
This is a dangerous place..
I said, Im nervous as hell from this stuff.
I thought those guys were going to kill me for sure.
They ganged up on me like that.
I couldnt believe it.
Look, Im still shakin.
Weird.
There out in the streets like that.
Its a dangerous place.
Its a dangerous place.
So, suddenly, these two guys appear in front of me.
They stopped.
Real aggressive.
Start at me, you know.
Whats that? whats that on that tape?
What do you got there?
I said, huh?
They said, what are you talking into that for?
I said, its just a tape, you know
Well play it for me
I said oh, no
I put it off as long as I could.
And finally they turned it on, you know
They grabbed it from me.
Took it away from me.
Turned it on.
And it said, he held a gun in his hand. this is a dangerous place.
They said, what dangerous place? what gun? youre a policeman!
And the deeper I talked, the worse I got into it.
I talked, I told him... I said, look man, Im not talkin....
It went on forever.
Anyway, I finally unbuttoned my shirt, and said,
Look, look... Im in this band, you know, Im in this band you know,
And were makin a recording, you know.
Its about new york city, its about crime in the streets...
The explanation was going nowhere, but,
Finally, they just kinda let me go, I dont know why.
So I walk around the corner,
And Im like shakin like a leaf,
And I thought, this is a dangerous place
Who should appear, but two policeman.
song performed by King Crimson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Harpua
Om-pa-pa oom-pa-pa oom-pa-pa oom-pa-paaaaa
Fat sweaty bulldog
Stood in the sun
Stone village swamp man
Slow motion run
Tender poke police walker
Precious birthday fudge
Swamp night bull nail
Walker done done
Hot sweaty bulldog stood in the sunthen -
stone village swamp man (is doing a)
slow motion runhere comes the policeman:
tender poke police walkerwhom the dog and the man see as:
precious birthday fudgethen -
swamp night (the man)
bull nail (the dog - the bulldog's claw)
kill the policeman:
walker done done
Me and Harpua
We couldn't care few-a
It happens all the time
We beat Okimo
(Repeat Chorus)
Hot liquor stone jack
Bitter toothless flesh
Shabby pimple chin-slime
Evil milky rash
Me and Harpua
Spastic dead-eyed hound
Oozing dreadlock skullcap
We're coming to your town
We'll help you party down
(Chorus 2x)
Spoken by Trey [with asides by Fishman]:
Once upon a time Far far away from here
There, in a small town...
a small town...
small town...
small...
And on the outskirts of this town
there lived a mean, nasty, furry, ugly hound named Harpua.
Harpua roamed the outskirts of the town every day and he'd walk around looking for a little action.
So of course this day was no different from any other day and here we start the story and we see Harpua walking around on the outskirts of town near the forest kind of at the edge of the forest and he's walking in toward town...
Harpua walked toward the town...
innocently...
And meanwhile in the town...
in a whole different part of the town
there lived a young boy all alone in a suburban neighborhood
and every day he'd sit in his room
and sit on his little couch [AND SMOKE POT!]...
[...] Read more
song performed by Phish
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Rehumanize Yourself
He goes out at night with his big boots on
None of his friends know right from wrong
They kick a boy to death cos he dont belong
Youve got to humanise yourself
A policeman put on his uniform
Hed like to have a gun just to keep him warm
Because violence here is a social norm
Youve got to humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
I work all day at the factory
Im building a machine thats not for me
There must be a reason that I cant see
Youve got to humanise yourself
Billys joined the national front
He always was a little runt
Hes got his hand in the air with the other cunts
Youve got to humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself
I work all day at the factory
Im building a machine thats not for me
There must be a reason that I cant see
Youve got to humanise yourself
A policeman put on his uniform
Hed like to have a gun just to keep him warm
Because violence here is a social norm
Youve got to humanise yourself
Re-humanise yourself...
song performed by Police
Added by Lucian Velea
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Who Are You
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who, who, who, who?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who, who, who, who?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who, who, who, who?
Who are you?
Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who, who, who, who?
I woke up in a soho doorway
I woke up in a soho doorway
A policeman knew my name
A policeman knew my name
He said you can go sleep at home tonight
He said you can go sleep at home tonight
If you can get up and walk away
If you can get up and walk away
I staggered back to the underground
I staggered back to the underground
And the breeze blew back my hair
And the breeze blew back my hair
I remember throwin punches around
I remember throwin punches around
And preachin from my chair
And preachin from my chair
Chorus:
Chorus:
Well, who are you? (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
Well, who are you? (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
I really wanna know (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
I really wanna know (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
Tell me, who are you? (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
Tell me, who are you? (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
cause I really wanna know (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
cause I really wanna know (who are you? who, who, who, who? )
I took the tube back out of town
I took the tube back out of town
Back to the rollin pin
Back to the rollin pin
I felt a little like a dying clown
I felt a little like a dying clown
With a streak of rin tin tin
With a streak of rin tin tin
[...] Read more
song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Policeman G.
To Policeman G. the Inspector said:
"When you pass the 'shops' you must turn your head;
If you took a wager, that would be a sin;
So you'll earn no stripes if you run them in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
To the House Committee, the Inspector said:
"'Tis a terrible thing how the gamblers spread,
For they bet on the steeple, and they bet on the Cup,
And the magistrates won't lock them up."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
But Policeman G., as he walks his beat,
Where ghe gamblers are -- up and down the street --
Says he: "What's the use to be talkin' rot --
If they'd make me a sergeant, I could cop the lot!"
With my ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
"But, begad if you start to suppress the 'shop',
Then the divil only knows where you're going to stop;
For the rich and the poor, they would raise a din,
If at Randwick I ran fifty thousand in."
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
"Though ye must not box -- nor shpit -- nor bet,
I'll find my way out to Randwick yet;
For I'm shtandin' a pound -- and it's no disgrace --
On Paddy Nolan's horse -- for the Steeplechase!"
Mush-a-ring-tiy-ah,
Fol-de-diddle-doh!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The English Revolution Of 1848
HO ye that nothing have to lose! ho rouse ye, one and all!
Come from the sinks of the New Cut, the purlieus of Vauxhall!
Did ye not hear the mighty sound boom by ye as it went—
The Seven Dials strike the hour of man's enfranchisement?
Ho cock your eyes, my gallant pals, and swing your heavy staves:
Remember—Kings and Queens being out, the great cards will be Knaves.
And when the pack is ours—oh then at what a slapping pace
Shall the tens be trodden down to five, and the fives kicked down to ace!
It was but yesterday the Times and Post and Telegraph
Told how from France King Louy-Phil. was shaken out like chaff;
To-morrow, boys, the National, the Siècle, and the Débats,
Shall have to tell the self-same tale of “La Reine Victoria.”
What! shall our incomes we've not got be taxed by puny John?
Shall the policeman keep Time back by bidding us move on?
Shall we too follow in the steps of that poor sneak Cochrane?
Shall it be said, “They came, they saw,—and bolted back again”?
Not so! albeit great men have been among us, and are floor'd—
(Frost, Williams, Jones, and other ones who now reside abroad)—
Among the master-spirits of the age there still are those
Who'll pick up fame—even though, when smelt, it makes men hold the nose.
What ho there! clear the way! make room for him, the “fly” and wise,
Who wrote in mystic grammar about London's “Mysteries,”—
For him who takes a proud delight to wallow in our kennels,—
For Mr. A. B. C. D. E. F. G. M. W. Reynolds!
Come, hoist him up! his pockets will afford convenient hold
To grab him by; and, if inside there silver is or gold,
And should it be found sticking to our hands when they're drawn out,
Why, 'twere a chance not fair to say ill-natured things about.
Silence! Hear, hear! He says that we're the sovereign people, we!
And now? And now he states the fact that one and one make three!
Now he makes casual mention of a certain Miscellany!
He says that he's the editor! He says it costs a penny!
O thou great Spirit of the World! shall not the lofty things
He saith be borne unto all time for noble lessonings?
Shall not our sons tell to their sons what we could do and dare
In this the great year Forty-eight and in Trafalgar Square?
Swathed in foul wood, yon column stood 'mid London's thousand marts;
And at their wine Committeemen grinned as they drank “The Arts”:
But our good flint-stones have bowled down each poster-hidden board,
And from their hoarded malice our strong hands have stript the hoard.
Yon column is a prouder thing than Cæsar's triumph-arch!
It shall be called “The Column of the Glorious Days of March!”
And stonemasons' apprentices shall grow rich men therewith,
By contract-chiselling the names of Jones and Brown and Smith.
Upon what point of London, say, shall our next vengeance burst?
Shall the Exchange, or Parliament, be immolated first?
Which of the Squares shall we burn down?—which of the Palaces?
(The speaker is nailed by a policeman)
Oh please sir, don't! It isn't me. It's him. Oh don't, sir, please!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Early Works - Universal Life
You wake up in the morning
and put your hands behind your head
as another day awaits your eager mind,
but what job would you choose to find
butcher, baker or maybe a preacher
writing striking sermons
to the multitude it would be read
of the peaceful life that eludes
without their wars and faults.
Maybe not a preacher but a baker instead
baking pies, cakes and bread
wedding cakes, rolls and steak pies,
but even baking has its constant ties.
Back to the reality your in
maybe a lawyer you might have been
questioning the witnesses
that the prosecution has brought forward
to help beat your case.
No its back to the drawing board in your mind
to etch another job to find,
maybe a policeman’s job would be fine
catching murders and thieves
by clues he or she leave behind,
making sure lorries don’t overload,
reforming the bad to good
by helping the deeply misunderstood.
However, even a policeman’s job has pit falls;
maybe a poet’s job isn’t bad at all.
Writing romantic words of love
about the moon, sun and stars above.
Saying words descriptive and sweet
to each girl you meet,
writing a philosophy on life
with its hated and strife,
acting a rebel to society
with banners and placard, not for me.
Maybe a secret agent for me
travelling to different countries
photographing secret documents,
then maybe we’re not all Derek Flints or James Bond,
then why not a Beatle maybe
with lots and lots of lovely loot
and loads and loads of fame
with everyone knowing your name.
No, I’ll just lay here and dream again.
Date unknown (Probably the late 1960s or early 1970s)
poem by David Harris
Added by Poetry Lover
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Harry the Wu
What can I do, Harry the Wu,
A policeman will come
And ask questions of you,
He'll pull out his book
And his pencil, too,
And look very sternly
At Harry the Wu.
Oh, Harry the Wu, what did you do,
While I was in bed
Going down with the flu,
I didn't get up until
Half past two,
And you're so impatient,
Harry the Wu.
I knew there was something that
I had to do,
I had to get up and feed
Harry the Wu,
That bowl in the fridge of
The left-over stew
Was meant for your dinner,
Harry the Wu.
Oh what can I do, Harry the Wu,
They'll probably lock you
Away in the zoo,
And then you will miss me
And I'll miss you too,
Life is a tragedy,
Harry the Wu.
I thought that you knew,
Harry the Wu,
That there are some things
You are not meant to do,
Now all that is left is
The Postman's shoe,
His hat and his bag
You have eaten them too.
What can I do, Harry the Wu,
You've ripped off the policeman's
Trousers, too,
You'd better go hide in
The chimney flu,
Stop wagging your tail at me
Harry the Wu.
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
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