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By John Healy (Air: Old Oaken Bucket).
The Dollar Alarm Clock
How dear to my heart are those chimes in the morning, That yank me from bed with melodious thrill; How sweet is the sound of the regular warning That yells that it's time that I hike to the mill. Without it I'd sleep till the sun had arisen Be late to the job that my boss lets me use; Get canned, perhaps steal, maybe land in a prison If the chimes didn't hustle me out of my snooze.
Chorus
The faithful alarm clock The rattling alarm clock; The dollar alarm clock That rests on my shelf. What a blessing it was when the thing was invented It beats the slave-driver who came with his stick; It rests on the shelf in the shack that I rented It never gets hungry; it never gets sick. If overly weary I take a tin bucket And place the alarm clock down into the thing, When it chimes in the morning it doubles the racket; It would wake up the dead when the two of them ring. Sometimes the good woman gets worn out and weary And says we are hauling too much of a load, I tell her the journey would look still more dreary If the dollar alarm clock should fail to explode. Then here's to my booster that only needs winding, And here's to the victim that just keeps alive. The boss gets the money and I do the grinding; The clock starts the circus at quarter past five.