Out in the grass here, Baby Belle,
Look with your two bright eyes and tell,
Can you see the boy who fiddles so well?
“Creak! creak! creak! creak!”
Only this with an endless squeak!
He’s a funny boy, so little and black,
With six good limbs to carry his pack,
His sharp knees thrust up over his back,
And his eyes — a hundred or two, it’s said —
Bigger than all the rest of his head!
Find him? Ha, if you follow the sound
Of his creaking fiddle he’ll not be found;
‘T will lead and mislead you all around;
He’s here, he’s yonder, he’s under your toes,
You go and he comes, you come and he goes.
But sharp as a file, all the while
He scrapes his fiddle, his cares to wile,
In this comical, dreary, cheery style:
“Creak! creak! creak! creak!”
Only this in an endless squeak!
