There I was, diggin' a hole,
Hole in the ground,
So big and sort of round it was,
And there was I, diggin' it deep,
It was flat at the bottom and the sides were steep.

Then along comes this bloke in a bowler
Which he lifted and scratched his head.
Oh, he looked in the hole, poor demented soul,
And said...

(Do you mind if I make a suggestion?)

Don't dig it there, dig it elsewhere,
You're digging it round and it ought to be square,
The shape of it's wrong, it's much too long,
And you can't have a hole where a hole don't belong.

(What a liberty, eh? Nearly bashed him right in the bowler.)

Well there was I, stood in me hole,
Shovelling earth for all I was worth I was
And there was him, standing up there,
So grand and official with his nose in the air!

So I gave him a look sort of sideways,
And I leaned on my shovel and sighed.
Oh I lit me a fag, and havin' took a drag I replied:

I just couldn't bear to dig it elsewhere,
I'm digging it round 'cause I don't want it square,
And if you disagree it doesn't bother me -
That's the place where the hole's gonna be!

Well there we were, discussing this hole,
Hole in the ground, so big and sort of round it was.
It's not there now, the ground's all flat -
And beneath it is the bloke in the bowler hat.

And that's that.