When I See His Wonderful Choo-Choo Trains, Which He Daily Builds With Infinite Pains, Whose Cars Are A Crazy And Curious Lot - A Doll, A Picture, A Pepper Pot, A Hat, A Pillow, A Horse, A Book, A Pote, A Mintie, A Button Hook, A Bag Of Tobacco, A Piece Of String, A Pair Of Wubbas, A Bodkin Ring, A Deck Of Twos And A Paper Box, A Brush, A Comb And A Lot Of Blocks - When I First Gaze On His Wonderful Trains, Which He Daily Builds With Infinite Pains, I Laugh, And I Think To Myself, "O Gee! Was Ever A Child As Cute As He?" But When He's Gone To His Cozy Nest, From The Toil Of His Strenuous Day To Rest, And When I Gaze On His Trains Once More, Where They Lie, Abandoned, Across The Floor, And When The Terrible Task I Face Of Putting Each "Pullman" Back In Its Place, I Groan A Little, And Think, "O Gee! Was Ever A Child As Mean As He?"