My Pa can hit his thumbnail with a hammer and keep still; He can cut himself while shaving an` not swear; If a ladder slips beneath him an` he gets a nasty spill He can smile as though he really didn`t care. But the pan beneath the ice-box--when he goes to empty that-- Then a sound-proof room the children have to hunt; For we have a sad few minutes in our very pleasant flat When the water in it splashes down his front. My Pa believes his temper should be all the time controlled; He doesn`t rave at every little thing; When his collar-button underneath the chiffonier has rolled A snatch of merry ragtime he will sing. But the pan beneath the ice box--when to empty that he goes-- As he stoops to drag it out we hear a grunt; From the kitchen comes a rumble, an` then everybody knows That he splashed the water in it down his front. Now the distance from the ice box to the sink`s not very far-- I`m sure it isn`t over twenty feet-- But though very short the journey, it is long enough for Pa As he travels it disaster grim to meet. And it`s seldom that he makes it without accident, although In the summer time it is his nightly stunt; And he says a lot of language that no gentleman should know When the water in it splashes down his front.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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