It’s the phantom window cleaner

He’s a man who’s built for speed

You should see him cleaning windows

He’s extremely fast indeed

If you watch him climb his ladder

With his squeegee and his scrim

Then you will not be surprised

That there’s not too much of him

He won’t slow down his pace

It’s such a disconcerting habit

Like a ferret up a pipe, or

A whippet, chasing rabbit

But wait till Friday night

When he is serving at the bar

It’s a total transformation

He’s the slowest one by far