I ramble along on the hill where the tillage
          Is fragrant with roses where dandelions bloom,
And when I arrive at the green near the village,
          I see what appears like a wide-open tomb.
'Tis all a mistake, 'tis the mouth of a sewer—
          There, standing erect, so familiar—'tis he,
The fine, manly form of the prosperous brewer,
          Dan Dugan, as handsome as handsome can be.
Descending the sewer, the prosperous brewer,
          Is soon out of sight of poor Dicky, poor me.
                   I hurry, I strive like
                   The devil. I drive like
          A drunken rat out on a terrible spree.

I entered the sewer to look for the brewer,
          Descending the wondrous earthenware chute.
It took me an hour to find the hop hewer,
          I staggered, then uttered a loud, piercing hoot.
A venomous ebony carrion crow bent
          O'er the cadaver. A wandering roach
Was ready to nibble, while also a rodent
          With malice intent, on the scene did encroach.
They gobble the brewer, unlucvky hop hewer.
          Dan Dugan, so tender, so toothsome, so ripe.
                   Became a cadaver—
                   A yellow cadaver—
          Stuck fast in the sewer, the earthenware pipe.

Dan Dugan the brewer got stuck in the sewer,
          Of thick, dirty mush. Unhappy hop hewer—
He tried to swim out from the sickening slush.
          The underground torrent so slimy, so slippy,
Caught Dan in the current all sticky with muck.
          Dan swallowed a mouthful and then became dippy.
Down deep in the earthenware pipe he got stuck.
          Poor Daniel the brewer turned bluer and bluer,
He spoke for a berth in the devil's own house,
                   Became a cadaver—
                   Oh, such a cadaver!
          He died in the pipe like a flexible louse.

I stole to the edge of the sewer to rubber,
          I twisted my neck, glancing into the well,
My heart filling up at the sight—now I blubber,
          Then fall away fainting, consumed by the smell.
Unfortunate brewer, now stuck in the sewer
          And gone to decay like a peach over-ripe,
Look—isn't he yellow, uncanny and mellow,
          The muck disagreed with his pitiful tripe.
Poor tripe! now we have—er—a yellow cadaver—
          Unlucky hop hewer, poor brewer, poor snipe.
                   The yellow cadaver,
                   The twisted cadaver,
          The swollen cadaver that stuck in the pipe.

I now seek the aid of the earthenware ewer,
          And after my wash I feel perfectly snug.
I think of the tragical fate of the brewer,
          Now safe in his pipe like a bug in a rug.
Dear Danny—how lucky to be a cadaver,
          Secure in thy earthenware tube over-ripe.
We'll rake up a wake for thy sake, yes, we'll have—er—
          A jolly old time in the shade of the pipe.
Dan Dugan, the brewer, now safe in the sewer,
          Doth rattle his bones—he is one rotten snipe.
                   The yellow cadaver,
                   The swollen cadaver,
The twisted cadaver is safe in the pipe.

With sad expectations the north wind comes cheating.
          The night where the moonbeam in ecstasy dwells,
My heart without rations is sadly repeating
          About sixty curses, like so many Hells.
The banjo is busted, the strings out of order,
          The rim is all rusted, encrusted like tripe.
I fear my poor soul will be crossing the border
          And joining the brewer down deep in the pipe.
The swollen hop hewer grows bluer and bluer,
          That yellow cadaver, the plum over-ripe.
                   The mellow cadaver,
                   The twisted cadaver,
          The swollen cadaver that stuck in the pipe.

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