The Hole

There I was, a-digging this hole
A hole in the ground, so big and sort of round it was
And 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 he 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 a 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 my hole
Shovelling earth for all that I was worth, I was
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 'cause I don't want it square
And if you disagree it doesn't bother me
That's the place where the hole's going to be."

Well there we were, disscussing this hole
A hole in the groud so big and sort of round it was
It's not there now, the ground's all flat
And beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat.

And that's that!