Shoveller, shoveller, what do you shovel?
I shovel the muck outside my hovel.
Shoveller, shoveller, lay down your spade,
Let us go tiptoe thro’ a verdant glade.
Not on your nelly, for shovel I must
The muck and the filth and the pebbles and dust,
I must shovel it all into Widdecombe Ditch
And cover it o’er with tar and pitch.
Shoveller, shoveller, come skip with me
Round about the linden tree
We’ll skip in circles ’til we drop
Then go to the kiosk for a drink of pop.
Away with you, temptress! Siren! Witch!
I only drink water from Widdecombe Ditch.
It’s black and brackish and tastes quite foul.
Damn you, shoveller! [She turns into an owl.]