Our street is full of potholes.
Song
1. Our street is muddy, potholed,
The electric steamer runs there,
I am its fireman,
The lover of a little brown girl.
2. The postman runs in front of our house,
Oh, but the girl who carries it is beautiful.
She carries the newspaper for someone else,
My sadness.
The electric steamer runs there,
I am its fireman,
The lover of a little brown girl.
2. The postman runs in front of our house,
Oh, but the girl who carries it is beautiful.
She carries the newspaper for someone else,
My sadness.