There was an old man from Dekalb;
The washer was shot on his valve.
So it dribbled and dripped ’til his patience was stripped,
And he sat around stupid and growled.
There was an old man at the Louvre,
Holding on by one hand from the roof.
When they said, “Should we catch ya?” he answered “You betcha!”
But wouldn’t let go of the roof.
There was an old man from New Trier,
Who decided to brew up some beer.
When they said, “Is it brewing?” he said, “Nothing doing!”
That petulant man from New Trier.
There was an old man from Las Cruces,
Who, no matter what any of you says,
Was pensive and kind, and was seldom inclined
To indulge in medieval abuses.
There was an old man from Madrid,
Whose tormentor had just had a kid.
They called him Jack Henry, which stuck in the memory
Of Anthony Fucking Madrid.