Fleashine, shoeshine, man of fifteen   Brings the house in with a smile   All twelve teeth tell myriad stories   One upon one and one      The breath in his hand waving   Drives the gypsy woman mad, oh   She loves him anyway   Has told him so a thousand times or more      She refuses to believe that   At forty two years old   She's not still a butterfly   Ready, ready for the net      Bobby the fifteen is turning strong and soft   As can be seen by his patience with the animals   He used to hate 'em   Now lays down beside them      To keep all from feeling sad   As animals sometimes do   He dreams of being old enough   To marry the girl with two heads      Their name is Gladys   And they don't yet know   Of the young man's fascination   They're too busy drawing circles in their arms      A fleashine, shoeshine, man of fifteen   Floating into the next town   Puts a straw in a Jim Beam bottle   And lays his head down      He puts a straw in a Jim Beam bottle   And lays his head down