#7
♫
Hm hm hm...,
Hm hm hm...
Does whatever a(n)
hm hm... can.
Makes a shirt, nice and neat.
Puts an edge, to a crease.
Look out! Here comes the
Hm hm hm...!
Is he smooth? Listen Bud!
He can even get out blood.
Does he burn cotton blends?
Or that skirt with ruffled ends?
Hey there! There goes the
Hm hm hm...!
In the chill of night,
when the wrinkles abound.
He shoots out some steam,
then he smooths them all down.
Hm hm hm...,
Hm hm hm...
Friendly
hm hm hm... Hm hm hm....
Wealth and fame, he’s ignored.
Pressing is his reward.
To him, life is a great big bang up.
When there are shirts to hang up
You’ll find the
Hm hm hm...! ♫
