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HALLOO, OLD SCUTTLE!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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156

HALLOO, OLD SCUTTLE!

Halloo, old scuttle! good old soul,
What's become of all your coal?
Why the tongs he came with a gobbledy-gun,
And took my coals out, one by one;
And the blaze ran in with a tricksy-spire
And set the pretty things a-fire;
And the blower came with a roaring-roar,
And made them burn up more and more;
And then the poker with koppitty-hop,
He poked their ashes and made 'em drop—
And that, O Koppitty-Rigamarole!
Is what's become of all my coal.”