THE BAKER





I'd like to be a baker, and come when morning breaks,

Calling out, "Beeay-ko!" (that's the sound he makes)--

Riding in a rattle-cart that jogs and jolts and shakes,

Selling all the sweetest things a baker ever bakes;

Currant-buns and brandy-snaps, pastry all in flakes;

But I wouldn't be a baker if . . .

I couldn't eat the cakes.

Would you?





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