I have a dear old daddy, for whom I nightly pray,
He has a set of whiskers that are always in the way.
Oh they’re always in the way, the cows eat them for hay,
They hide the dirt on Daddy’s shirt, they’re always in the way.
Father had a strong back, now it’s all caved in,
He stepped upon his whiskers and walked up to his chin.
We have a dear old mother; with him at night she sleeps,
She wakes up in the morning eating shredded wheat.