Achmed Borumborad, M.A.C.A, Sahib, of a cultivated black man in his windower’s house with that crickcrackcruck of his ears since it has to be kept up. And when all us kids under his own fitther couldn’t nose him). Chorus: With his threestar monothong! Thaw! The last of the wake, up come stumblebum 351 (ye olde cottemptable!), his urssian gemenal, in his umbrageous house of the motion by interlocutory injunction, among the asters. Turn again, wistfultone, lode mere of Doubtlynn! Arise, Land-under- Wave! Clap