Boots

What a boot! What a boot!
What a boot this is!
Black and shiny; oh how it gleams!
What a boot! What a boot!
What a boot I say!
The works of a master run through its seams!

Its just a boot, you silly sod,
caked with dirt, as smelly as cod.
Black with soot from a chimmey sweep,
worn with holes from an old man's feet.

What a boot! What a boot!
What a boot this is!
Stitched and leathered by a master's hand!
What a boot! What a boot!
What a boot I say!
No finer boot throughout the land!

Oh shut up now, you little crack,
Its just a boot, and thats a fact;
Old and simple, its no more
complicated than our door.


What a boot! What a boot!
What a boot this is!
Watch the wrinkles crease and flow!
What a boot! What a boot!
What a boot I say!
Only one such as I could hope to know!

That boot was made by Sam's young son,
In fifteen minutes he was done;
Now stop yapping about rhythm and flow
It's almost nine, it's time to go.


Shut up woman, this boot's Divine,
No more do I wish to hear thee whine;

Fine.