I know a funny little man,
As quit as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody house!
There's no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody
"Tis he who always tears our books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pine afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For, prithee, don't you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody"
He damps wood up the fire,
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that brings in mud,
And all the carpet soil.
The papers always are mislaid
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody
The finger marked upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leave the blind unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
That lying round you. See
Are not our boots they all belong
To Mr. Nobody.
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