"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head —
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it would injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."
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[ 2.9 ms ] story [ 16.4 ms ] threadOoooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was
White lace and feathers They made up his bed A gold covered mattress On which he was laid
Ooooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was
He went to fight wars For his country and his king Of his honor and his glory The people would sing
Ooooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was
A bullet had found him His blood ran as he cried No money could save him So he laid down and he died
Ooooh, what a lucky man he was Ooooh, what a lucky man he was