The Jug Dealer.

He was a jug dealer,

he dealt in jugs;

he joined a jug band,

they drank from mugs;

they made beautiful music,

if beauty is in the eye

not the ear;

they struck up a tune,

by the light of the Moon

on a Thursday in May;

and not a moment too soon,

it was lovely to hear;

they travelled about,

going this way and that,

lacking direction,

ever buying old rat-a-tat-tat;

one day they disbanded,

and he was alone;

a man and his jugs,

now just waits by the phone.

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