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قراءة كتاب The Bay and Padie Book Kiddie Songs
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"Do you like ours 'n' father's new book, Bay?"
"Aw, there's not any picture of the Santa-cart written in it!"
What a lot of lots of things
For little boys to like!
So Bay doesn't stay in the stars any more
THE BAY AND PADIE BOOK
When you're coming in the door
Please come gently, very gently!
Micky might be on the floor!
Fact, he might be anywhere!
Near the hallstand, by the stair!
Hush! Step gently, very gently!
When you're coming in the door.
The Writer wishes to thank the Editor of "The Bulletin," Sydney, for permission to reprint "Nonsense Immortal," and the Editor of "The Triad," Sydney, for a similar courtesy regarding "Kitchen Lullaby" and "Little Boys."
The
BAY AND PADIE
BOOK
KIDDIE SONGS
By
FURNLEY MAURICE
Illustrations by
VERA HAMILTON
and
CYRIL DOBBS
Commonwealth of Australia
Sydney J. Endacott
Melbourne
1917
First Edition November 1917
Second Edition February 1918
Wholly set up and printed in Australia at the Galleon Press, Norris-street, Surrey Hills, Vic., for Sydney J. Endacott, 14 Cumming-street, Moonee Vale, Vic.
THE SHADOW SHOW
Funny crowds of dodging folk,
Trams that run along with sparks,
Sofa games and pillow larks,
Grubs and ponies, worms and tigers,
Sparrows on the tree,
Oh!
What a lot of lots of things
For little boys to see!
Woodmen driving broken carts,
Minahs on the chimney tops,
Swallows dodging near the shops,
Barking pups that make the postman
Fall down off his bike;
Oh!
What a lot of lots of things
For little boys to like!
Pastry from the pastrycook's,
Circuses and Mentone sand,
Musics of the soldier band,
Chocolates wrapped in silver paper
So they won't get wet;
Oh!
What a lot of lots of things
For little boys to get!
Tip-toe, Tip-toe, hush the noise,
There's a wide-eye-whisper tune;
Micky's making songs for boys;
Sleepy after the afternoon.
THE SOLDIER BAND
Inside the pastry shop they saw me last.
They don't know where I've got to, for I've runned from where they think;
I heard the soldier band go marching past.
A cab-horse jumped into the air and bumped against a lamp.
Ta—rah—ra—rah, the trumpets go telling the boys to come,
And always and all the time, bang goes the drum.
I don't care where I walk or who I meet,
I'm following the band away to where the musics grow,
I'm hitting my boots heavy on the street.
And find the funny place where soldiers go
To fill their trumpets with the noise