There wasn't a soul that saw the deed, Not even the driver knew, And there he lay on the tramway track, Till the townward car was due. It broke his neck, and his shoulder blade, His legs, and arms, its broke, And laid him out, a squirming trout, 'Twas then he awoke, and spoke! Said he, "What's up? is the dancing done? The waltz has made me sore!" And wriggling out on the frosty ground, He never spoke no more! Heigho! the murder was caused by me, Was never a soul who knew, That I am the man, who chucked the man, That the townward tram car slew! And everybody on earth was done With the murdered man, but me! The very next night, in the corner seat, I looked, and there was he! I thought at first that he might be a twin, And asked his thruppeny fare, But he sneered at me, I turned away, And left him sneering there! Thinks I, I'll watch him, and jot my tot, And when he is goin' to go, I'll chuck him the same, as I did before, For sake of the tramway co. I calculated the list of fares, Then turned around to look, But hey! I'm blowed, if he hadn't gone off, Gone! with his bloomin' hook! But how it was done, or whither he went, I never could guess, or think, For the ventilators all were shut, There wasn't an open chink! And I was up at the door so tight, He couldn't have passed me by, I never did close an eye that night, No lid of a bloomin' eye! I hates to see the company done, And that was a cheated fare, I'd rather lose my regular meals, Than wrong the company, there! I'd rather work from ante M, six Till three of the A.M. clock, Than wrong the tramway co. of a coin, That wasn't my legal stock. There's nobody sees the ghost but me, Because he's a sneaking sprite, He always comes when I take my turn On the latest car at night. That's him! he's there in the corner seat, The man that I killed is there, I hate to have it to say, But no, I can't recover my fare! I've this American tink-a-ting, And tickets of sortin's three, But that embezzling raw will come To cheat, and sneer at me. I cawnt tell why, but he worry's me so, I'd collar him if I could, He hasn't a scruff, or any a crop, O' the neck, or flesh or blood,