Thankful Hank and the Guzzard crank
The handles of a great machine
It works with the force of a strung out horse;
They're balding from the heat of the thing
An orphan in pearls brought them into the world
And since then they've been up on that hill
They heave and sway as they crank away
For dimes at a time lost in their minds...
The fear-abiding citizens found it wild and absurd
So they gathered their case against old Hank and the Guzzard:
"These men and their machine are like a wooden spleen
And they keep us up all night with their banging and their clanging."
The mob heaved and swayed and the scheme was laid
So they marched up the hill and moved in for the k**...
When they got home to their beds there claim this plague of dread
That something was wrong, but it could wait till the dawn
But the morning never came; the sun was delayed...
Forever the dark sky and no one knew why -
Thankful Hank and the Guzzard crank
The handles of a great machine