Under the arbor in the
It is true there are floors
But for the most of it
There's a roof every bit.
We plan to shake out the fleas,
Under the branches of White Eagle trees.
Winter was long and hard,
Spring worked off our lard
But summer approaches soon
And there is just no more room.
So Saturday all day we'll visit and chat
Behind our tables and all that.
Come one, come all
Heaken to the call,
Rooty toot toot and such,
Saturday's all day and fleas much.