He used to stand and cry and whine,
Whene'er it happened to be fine.
Because there was no mud, you see,
And so he could not dirty be.
His father, when he used the cane,
Was bound to wash his hands again!
His mother scrubbed him by the hour,
With all her might, and main, and power.
'T was very little good, for he
Next day would just dirty be.
The village barber always said
Folks wiped their feet upon his head.
This song was originally posted at: