He lives within his Toytown house And stays, contented, there; Happy, silent as a mouse Dozed in his tortile chair. Ready and alert is he, Uncertain what's in store, Thinking next who it may be Comes knocking at his door. Will someone call to visit soon? Will someone come to play? Will someone tease and hum a tune Upon this very day? All alone he'll sit and mope The smile washed from his face; Sadly tearful in the hope Some antic should take place. But wait! what's this? a fuss he hears Along the nursery lane; He cocks his head and pricks his ears And harkens it again. Did he sense a stir, so slight? Yes! he's sure he did... He springs and gives them such a fright When someone lifts his lid.