He writes rhymes for his friends' children Dotes on mystery stories At the slightest provocation he sings Slightest provocation he sings folk songs Of key and in key Here and there people sat on benches Reading newspapers or straining Their faces to the sun, their eyes closed Trying to catch a bit of sunburn To carry home proudly He pulled his feet under his bench He pulled his feet under his bench As he was ashamed of his shoes His dog loves to walk and travel In cars, in planes, on rafts Elevators and on escalators Then we'll let some daylight into It for once if it kills us right on the spot No sort of middle state No easy jog trot with him If he never wrote when he wasn't In the mood He would make no headway Ololo, Ololo, Ololo, Ololo Here and there people sat on benches Reading newspapers or straining Their faces to the sun, their eyes closed Trying to catch a bit of sunburn To carry home proudly Ololo, Ololo, Ololo, Ololo Ololo, Ololo, Ololo, Ololo Ololo, Ololo, Ololo, Ololo Ololo, Ololo, Ololo, Ololo Ololo, Ololo, Ololo, Ololo