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.