When we caught the 700 men and hung them in their prison pen,
Who said,
suspend them by their fuzz,
was I was here,
I was.
Was he, was here, he was.
When
the keeper of the royal zoo was shot,
a cock or two or two,
Who sealed him in a pot of glue,
was I was here,
I was.
Was he, was here, he was.
He has a way of learning what he wants to know,
Tell a kid,
but to the point.
They always seem to remember,
when I begin to dismember,
Them arm by arm and ear by ear and joint by joint.
When the court musician lost his grasp,
And let his lute begin to rasp,
who had him bitten by an ask,
Was I was here,
was he,
was here,
was I was here,
I was.
The
time we caught the man who said I wasn't nice,
Joy, oh, joy, that was a time,
I confiscated his brother,
And then did something or other,
Involving him,
dissolving him,
a vat
of lye.
Then at last,
in manner neat and deft,
I've hacked and hatcheted and cleft,
Until no one but me is left.
I want it clear,
he wants it clear,
I was,
was here,
and is,
was here,
In every single charming and disarming thing he does,
Was I was here, was I was.