текстThere I was, a-digging this hole
A hole in the ground,
so big and sort of round it was
There was I, digging it deep
It was flat at at the bottom
and the sides were steep
When along, comes this bloke in a bowler
which he lifted and scratched his head
Well we looked down the hole,
poor demented soul
and he said:
- Do you mind if I make a suggestion?
Don't dig there, dig it elsewhere
Your digging it round
and it ought to be square
The shape of it's wrong,
it's much too long
And you can't put hole where a hole don't belong.
I ask,
- What a liberty eh?
Nearly bashed him right in the bowler
Well there was I, stood in me hole
Shovelling earth for all I was worth
There was him,
standing up there
So grand and official with his nose in the air.
So I gave him a look sort of sideways
and I leaned on my shovel and sighed
Well I lit me a fag and having took a drag
I replied:
- I just couldn't bear, to dig it elsewhere
I'm digging it round co's I don't want it square
And if you disagree
it doesn't bother me
That's the place where the holes gonna be
Well there we were,
discussing this hole
A hole in the groud
so big and sort of round it was
Well it's not there now, the ground's all flat
And beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat
And that's that.