THERE is a fellow across the way Who plays the banjo night and day, And all you ever hear him play, Is plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. He plays along with might and main, Be it foul or fair, be it snow or rain, And, oh! it is that constant strain, That plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. You sit here in your room and swear, But he can't hear, nor does he care, Only goes on playing that same old air, The plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. It is his hope that some fine day On the Banjo Club they'll let him play, But he won't if we have aught to say, With his plunk, plunk, plunkety, plunk, plunk. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BATTLE OF NASEBY by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY ANNIVERS: BAPTISMI by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE FOUR ZOAS: NIGHTS THE FIFTH AND SIXTH by WILLIAM BLAKE THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID (MONOLOGUE IN REGARD TO HEREDITY) by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH ORTIZ (1528) by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH TRANSFORMATION by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN |