SLOBBY PETER—what an eater!
See him wobble on the cobble.
Teeter teeter, see him gobble
Fried potatoes in his coffee.
Mix it, stir it up all frothy.
Yes, his case is very plain,
He has water on the brain.

What an awful thing it is,
That an intellect all fizz
Should meander in a maze.
Such a parting of the ways!
Peter's ways—so very plain.
He has water on the brain.

Nature now is steeped in bile. The
Rocks of ages tremble while th
Donkey and its Donkling brays.
Little Bessie broke her stays
Frightening the Jenny wren.
Hear the cackle of the Hen,
Sister of the Rooster. Rays
From the solar magnet flays
Burning red forth from the sky.
Let us drink some rock and rye.
Even the poor Turkey gobbler,
Beaten by the Devil's cobbler Totters,
then puts on its brakes
Hissing like a brace of snakes.

See all nature upside down
From its heels e'en to the crown.
Insect, quadruped and biped
Quite perplexed—some wicked Spy said,
—But no matter what that Guy said.
'Tis one fabricated lie, said
To divert us from that plain
Ailment—water on the brain.

See the Booby rub his glasses,
As he pours the thick molasses
On the slice of sirloin steak.
What a wrinkle, what a fake!
Will his intellect awake?
That's all right, his mind opaque,
Feels its way through paths dark, devious,
—Same old trouble written previous.
Doctor's treatment all in vain!
He has water on the brain.

Silly Tilly has a pain.
In her cranium no grain—
Common sense departed—zip!
See that glass of sherry flip,
Relic of those evil deeds.
All her belfry full of weeds
Sticking out in nasty shape,
But too late, they can't escape.

Tilly has an ugly mug,
Down her face one claw she dug.
Sherry flip and whisky plain
Gave her water on the brain.

Ikie Ikeson runs a Hock
Shop where needy people flock,
Where the handsome well-clad thug
Gliding in so nice and smug,
There presents the small gold watch.
Goodness Heaven! what a botch,
What a bungle nature gave
To the World. This sneaking knave
Hurries to Saint Martin's Lane,
Pawns his sister's watch and chain.
Yes, the symptoms all are plain.
He has water on the brain.

When the Ding Ding wagon drives
Through the gate, as it arrives,
See those eyes as bright as stars
Flashing through the iron bars
Looking for the buggy bus
Ever ringing, what a fuss!
Fresh fish, more bugs, dandy haul!
Mary welcomes one and all.
She—poor Trusty, tends the door,
Washes dishes, scrubs the floor,
Churns the butter in the buttery
Of the captivating Nuttery,
Does all work about the dairy
And her name is crazy Mary.
Everything against her grain.
She has water on the brain.

Now we have another hero.
All grey matter is at zero.
James, the Watchman, has the cramp,
Yes—he is a listless swain.
There—he overturns the lamp.
He has water on the brain.
See him choke, the careless Bloke.
What a bursting, what a smoke.

Angry flames soon claim their own.
Hear the crackle, hear the groan
Rising from each buggy lung,
While the fire, rung on rung
Rises to the topmost floor.
See each Inmate scratch and claw
On his comrade's jaw. Howl, howl!
Curses, imprecations foul
Mingle with that dreadful smell—
Roasting flesh. Oh, what a yell.
Hear that yell—now softer, quiet—
Hear the echo answer "Fry it,
Get the hose, quick, quick—now ply it."
But that other water—dry it,
Squeeze it, ease it from all pain.
Dry the water on the brain.

See, the Bug House is a ruin,
All its Inmates now are due in
Paradise, or else 'tis—where?
Climbing down the sooty stair
To that pool of racking pain,
Boiling water on the brain.

See the carcases all charred,
Filling up the Bug House yard,
Twisted into many shapes
Like huge worms, those made like tapes
Of all sizes, big and little,
Crisp and brown, both soft and brittle,
But quite free from Earthly pain.
No more water on the brain.

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