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.