CYKA

" A little bisque doll and a little rag doll
And a dolly imported from France
Were sitting one day on the shelf of the store
With a doll that could wind up and dance;
When all of a sudden the shopkeeper heard
A scream that rang out thro' the store,
And this was the plaint of the little bisque doll
That made such an awful uproar;

I've got a pain in my sawdust,
That's what's the matter with me;
Something is wrong with my little inside,
I'm just as sick as can be.
Don't let me faint, someone get me a fan,
Someone else run for the medicine man,
Ev'ryone hurry as fast as you can,
I've got a pain in my sawdust.

They took her away in a hospital van
And the whole town was filled with the blues,
For ev'ryone thought it was quite an odd thing,
And the papers all printed the news;
The surgeons looked wise and they all shook their heads
And asked her just where she was sick;
"I think it's 'appendisawdust'," she exclaimed,
"And won't you please do something quick?"

Oh, sad was the day for the little bisque doll,
For they cut all her stitches away,
And looked for the seat of the terrible ache;
"'Twas a delicate task," they all say,
For none of the surgeons had ever before
Performed on a dolly's inside,
They tried to restuff her but didn't know how,
And this was her wail as she died;

I've got a pain in my sawdust
That's what's the matter with me;
Something is wrong with my little inside,
I'm just as sick as can be.
Don't let me faint, someone get me a fan,
Someone else run for the medicine man,
Ev'ryone hurry as fast as you can,
I've got a pain in my sawdust. "