On that grimy Grimsday morn,
The grumble deep and culby,
There came a tinker-pick inside
His appence crink and bulby.
In thrumped a jangle-mangle man,
With his coat and hat so hangled,
His hair a-plot, his peepers piped,
At the tinker-pick as he snangled.
The jangle-mangle man spied him,
And pushed out all his thickery.
His pipes upon the tinker-pick,
Said “Weff’n dust that tickery?”
The tinker-pick, he springled then
And drew his shicker-bam.
But the jangle-mangle man was quick,
His too was soon in hand.
They stumped there, shicker-bams to mugs
For nearly twenty peel.
Till then the tinker-pick took toe,
And ran off with his steal.
But then, oh then a mighty crunk
As a shicker-bam was trigged,
And on the wash the tinker-pick
He died, and there he gligged.
The jangle-mangle man approached
And handed back my shing.
And with a windmill thrumped right out.
Now worrin’ that a thing…