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.