Down in the cellar where the bed bugs lurk,
There lives an old man called Shuggy McGurk,
His face is black as day-old pitch, his suit is made of rags,
And he wears a hat of finest silk and ancient canvas bags.
They say that he eats children, I suppose it could be true,
His teeth are stained, his lips are chapped, how does it look to you?
He sleeps all day and stalks by night, look out, he’ll come your way!
He's carrying a knife and fork, don’t hang around today!
Just buy a ticket to Timbuktu and get there by first class,
Or he’ll have you on his luncheon plate with a grubby pint of Bass,
So lock that cellar door, m’dears, make sure that it’s shut tight,
And keep old Shuggy safely in, so you can sleep tonight.
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved