Twas in a vault beneath the street, In the trench of the traction rope, That I found a guy with a fishy eye And a think tank filled with dope.

In the trench of the traction rope,

And a think tank filled with dope.

  His hair was matted, his face was black, And matted and black was he; And I heard this wight in the vault recite, “In a singular minor key”:

And matted and black was he;

“In a singular minor key”:

 “Oh, I am the guy with the fishy eye And the think tank filled with dope. My work is to watch the beautiful botch That’s known as the Clark Street Rope.

“Oh, I am the guy with the fishy eye

And the think tank filled with dope.

That’s known as the Clark Street Rope.

 “I pipes my eye as the rope goes by For every danger spot. If I spies one out I gives a shout, And we puts in another knot.

“I pipes my eye as the rope goes by

For every danger spot.

And we puts in another knot.

 “Them knots is all like brothers to me, And I loves ’em, one and all.”  The muddy guy with the fishy eye A muddy tear let fall.

“Them knots is all like brothers to me,

And I loves ’em, one and all.”

A muddy tear let fall.

 “There goes a knot we tied last week, There’s one what we tied to-day; And there’s a patch was hard to reach, And caused six hours’ delay.

“There goes a knot we tied last week,

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