Rapaire he is a naughty lad,
He cherishes just being bad,
Although it makes his poor Mom sad,
All on a summer day, oh!
He brags of using lethal force,
And makes up stories rude and coarse,
And nasty humor does endorse,
Fiddling time away, oh,
All on a summer day.

Rapaire is gleeful, sly and rude,
And speaks of heresy, and food,
Of weapons and of rounders lewd,
All on a summer day, oh!
He takes up poetry from the shelf
In acts of literary pelf,
And claims he made them up himself!
Fiddling time away, oh,
All on a summer day.

His signature you cannot trust,
His colleagues he has roundly cussed,
He ought to be tagged for a bust,
All on a summer day, oh!
And rounded up and put away,
Beyond the reach of the light of day,
Where rats cavort and roaches play,
Fiddling time away, oh,
All on a summer day.

Then in his penance, in the gloom,
Confined in a 12- by 10-foot room,
He'd hum a different sort of tune,
ALl on a summer day, oh!
He'd solemn grow, his tears would flow,
Regret would feed him endless woe,
And thus he would repent, you know.
Ah, fiddling time away, oh!
All on a summer day.