[OddjobAbe]

OH, Nate!
He's great!
The mod of fate!
Whom I (annoyed face) don't hate.
It is his trait,
that he is great.
Hooray for Nate!

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

OH, Nate!
He's great!
The mod of fate!
Whom I (annoyed face) don't hate.
It is his trait,
that he is great.
Hooray for Nate!

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

You see. It doesn't work.