Classic Poem

Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a merry old soul was he,
Till he called for his pipe, and called for his bowl,
And called for his fiddlers three.

His pipe, that cost, in the days of old,
But a dollar seventy-four,
Now cost him twenty dollars in gold
On account of the well-known war.

His bowl — and though, in the olden time,
When bowls were cheap and good
At a cent apiece — now cost a dime,
On account of the dearth of wood.

And his fiddlers three who played so grand
For a dollar and a half a day,
Were known as The Ukulele Band
In a midnight cabaret.

Yes, Old King Cole was a merry old soul,
And a m. o. s. was he,
Till he called for his pipe, and called for his bowl,
And called for his fiddlers three.