One, two, three, four,
Look who's here at the door!
Five, six, seven, eight,
I hope it's them, they're pretty late-
Nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
Their coat goes up on the shelves.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,
I hope they see a guillotine.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty,
Now they're here, I'll hurt them plenty.
No use counting any more,
It's just making my brain quite sore.
I simply had to tell you more
Of they who turned life into war.
Made happy thinking quite a chore,
Right at my face they swore and swore.
Everything nice, hidden in a drawer,
Or scattered everywhere, all over the floor.
May someday beach up upon the shore,
May I fall asleep without a snore.
A person who may or may not exist.
