by Clifford Grey & Cuthbert Clarke The blackest man I know was a sweep in Pimlico He had quite the blackest face you've ever seen But for all his dirty hide, he was white, clean white inside I'm sorry, my mistake... that's Gunga Din I loved him to the last, though he'd had a sooty past But he kept it dark as only he could do Till one evening very late came his final brush with fate Between ourselves he'd had just one or two It was near a fish-shop door, as he passed a face he saw With a pair of eyes that held a frightened stare "Twas a cod-fish on the ice, but it gripped him like a vice For it seemed to him that she was standing there How the chord of mem'ry stirs, those eyes were just like hers That woman who had vowed to be his wife To the blackest man I know she had said long years ago He must wash his face or vanish from her life Well, his manly pride was hurt, for he loved his honest dirt And for him there was only one thing left to do For the Blackest Man I know guessed he'd got the sack He said "Good-bye", took up his brush - and flue Then he woke - the vision flown by that fish-shop- all alone And he wandered on, his mind a fitful dream To the turgid river side, plunged headlong in the tide And floated with his flue-brush down the stream He was never seen again, he may be in some drain And the world still laughs and no one calls it odd The Blackest Man I know, I'll tell what made him go 'Twas the Green Eye of the Little Yellow COD.
The end