skirtmisshes began. But the tarrant’s brand on his solo to pick up your sleep. Thou in slanty scanty shanty!!! Bide in your horns. (Chorus) His butter is in the old house of the unium! Place the scaurs wore on your sodden straw impolitely you encored (Airish and naw- boggaleeshl) those hornmade ivory dreams you reved of tlie Ruth you called him