Pottering 'round the chickens' pan,

Creeping low and slow,

And why they call it Old Man

I never asked to know.

I never want to know.

Crawling through the chick-weed,

Dragging through the quack,

Pussly, tansy, tick-weed

Almost break his back.

Catnip, cockle, dock prevent

His travelling all they can,

But still he goes the ways he's went,

Poor Old Man!

Old Man, Old Man,

What's the use of you?

No one wants to see you, like

As if you hadn't grew.

You ain't no good to nothing

So far as I can see,

Unless some maiden fair will sing

 Prev. P 6/203 next